


Purpose

by merulanoir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Djinns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: ”However, the groups I'm making plans on visiting are ones that have caused considerable trouble in the past, and are yet to be brought under our banners despite considerable efforts. My word and presence holds the kind of power no envoy could ever hope to command, and thus speeds up the negotiations considerably."Geralt was still looking at Emhyr like he couldn't exactly pinpoint what bothered him most about all this. Cirilla gave him a grin.”My father means to say he got bored.”After Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon became the Empress of Nilfgaard et al., what happened to Emhyr var Emreis?





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I churned this sucker out in a week and then spent five hours today trying to make it publishable. I've been having some serious Geralt/Emhyr feels, as you can see.  
> Enjoy. <3

  **I**

Emhyr var Emreis was not a simple man by any stretch of imagination. He didn't think so, and the few people whose opinion he valued had told him the same. It was, therefore, notterribly surprising that he found himself growing bored after Cirilla took the throne.

His days were still filled; his daughter needed his guidance, the senate needed someone to steer them, and so on, and so forth.

It was all very important, but it was nothing someone else couldn't have done, save for offering advice to Cirilla, and even that task had long ago lost its function as a means of keeping his heir alive. Nowadays, it was more about discussing their opinions and thoughts on running the empire; Emhyr had been delighted to sense the shift towards equality. It had happened some time after Cirilla's coronation. His daughter, whose political abilities Emhyr had frankly been doubting, had succesfully immersed herself into the court. The person who became empress was and was not the same young woman who Geralt of Rivia had brought before Emhyr, a sword on her back and a scowl on her face. When Emhyr had observed the first year of Cirilla's reign, he had been forced to admit she was managing well.

Emhyr was glad, and yet, he was _bored_. His mind couldn't help itself, and when he finally came up with his next plan of action, it was only a matter of finding the right way of going about it. He had spent a forthnight drawing up plans, going through old intelligence reports about separatist groups of any importance, and drafting proposals for each of them to lay down their arms and join their forces under the Nilfgaardian sun.

It was ambitious to the extreme, perhaps stupidly so. The groups consisted of criminals, mages who had not sought asylum, and individual persons of power, all scattered across the realm. The only factor connecting them was their flat refusal to submit to Nilfgaard's rule. None of them were currently of any real trouble, but give them five, ten years, and the situation might change.

Emhyr was not terribly religious, but he had always thought that up there was some entity whose sole purpose was to stir the world when things became too calm. He had always prided himself in his ability to sniff out trouble before others, and that was his goal now, as well. He was not only the former emperor of Nilfgaard; he was the descendant of house Emreis, a family of extremely skilled diplomats. If he could choose between stagnating at the court and venturing out into the world to do something about potential threaths to his daughter's reign, there really was no question as to the answer.

Cirilla, upon being proposed that her father should leave Nilfgaard proper and travel incognito to strike up negotiations with dangerous separatists, was not pleased. Emhyr had been careful in trying to rebuild everything he had once broken, and seeing Cirilla look at him with worry in her eyes told him he had managed, to an extent. Emhyr knew he had made horrible, unforgivable mistakes, and trying to make amends had swallowed the better half of the first six months. They had talked _so much_ during that time, Emhyr laying his whole life bare in front of his daughter. It had been difficult, painful, and worth every tear. When Cirilla had hugged him for the first time, Emhyr had thought his heart would shatter. He had hugged her back and sent a silent thank you to the witcher, who had given him this chance.

Despite her initial suspicion, Cirilla was also her mother's daughter. Pavetta had been sharp as a blade, and Cirilla had inherited her mother's strategic sense of world. Emhyr's plan was clever in being blatant overkill; Nilfgaardian diplomats had not managed to dissuade the separatists, but the former emperor disembarking to walk among them could very well have a different effect. Dangerous, yes, but the rewards of pacifying the remaining enemies would be worth the risks. And Emhyr had access to the best fighters and spies in the continent; arranging security was only a matter of finding the right individuals for each mission.

Third summer of Cirilla's rule saw the former emperor purchasing an estate in Toussaint and retiring there for a few months to write his memoirs. The realm was abuzz with speculation whether Emhyr var Emreis had finally taken a lover and was in fact escaping to Toussaint to enjoy some quality company. The court officials had neither confirmed or denied the rumours.

That was the official version of events. Emhyr had hired a doppler impersonator to take his place, and as the smallfolk were waving the emperor's carriage on it way, he slipped out of the capital with four carefully chosen escorts and set out towards the outskirts of Dol Blathanna.

Finding the elven separatists who had been killing Nilfgaardian symphatizers for years took them the better part of three weeks. Emhyr was certain they were being observed during that time, but he didn't hurry with making contact. He established himself as a person of interest in the region, withholding his identity and purpose, but making it clear that the elven leaders would benefit from hearing him out.

He had cut his hair and forgone shaving after departing from Nilfgaard proper. Staying in inns and walking among people unrecognized was a novelty in itself. With some conscious effort, Emhyr managed to shed the outermost layer of regality, and it made him more approachable. The smart ones could still tell he was not merely a wandering historian from Nilfgaard's academy, but the disguise worked well enough.

When the elven guerrillas came to see him, Emhyr could not help but feel a sense of deep satisfaction. He had a purpose, and he was going to do everything in his power to fulfill it. It would ease Cirilla's reign greatly, and perhaps even make them grow closer. Emhyr's own life had been very different from hers, but as he followed the elves into their hideout, he couldn't help but commit everything he saw to memory; he dearly wished to share the tales with his daughter.

The talks went well. No one was threatened with anything. Emhyr got the distinct feeling that the majority of the elves were tired of fighting, and only staying in the woods out of loyalty to their leader. It took several weeks of talks before Emhyr was presented to the guerrilla leader, a tall, lithe woman with a scar across her cheek. She had been fighting for decades, and even agreeing to meet a _dh'oine_ was a major step in the right direction.

Emhyr stayed with the elves for two months, agreeing to live in their grotto to show his willingness to cooperate. Five weeks in, he revealed his true identity to the leader, who almost stabbed him with alarm and then, upon failing to kill Emhyr, finally agreed to officially parlay. The rest of the time was spent drawing up terms, and Emhyr could feel a new sense of accomplishment. It was a small step, but it mattered. Perhaps not as much as his conquests, or not in the same way, but it did.

What Emhyr couldn't foresee was his growing fondness of his traveling companions. He'd hired two ex-smugglers of Skelligan descent, an Aen Seidhe assassin who had been recommended by Francesca Findabair herself (for what reason she had become known to the duchess of Dol Blathanna, Emhyr had never dared to ask), and an ex-mercenary from Velen's wastelands. Every one of them had been chosen because of their unique skills, but also because they displayed no fear of Emhyr as a person. They had been given permission to speak to him as an equal while they traveled, and the familiarity had rubbed off on Emhyr.

The Skelligans, a brother and a sister named Skjall and Salla, had each lost three fingers once they had been captured by the Nilfgaardian navy. They were the most accomplished fighters Emhyr had ever met; both of them masters of spears, swords, daggers, and unarmed combat. They also had the filthiest sense of humour he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The elf, who wanted to be called Viessa, was a silent companion, but the one Emhyr always brought with him to the talks. She had taken weeks to open up, but in the end she had agreed to teach Emhyr the more common dialects of Elder Speech.

The fourth companion was a man called Surne Gladrun. He towered over the rest of them, carrying a heavy halberd and many dark tales of the Northern wars. Emhyr had chosen him because he had traveled far and wide, spoke several languages even if he had never learned to read or write, and because the mercenary reminded him of a certain witcher in his vigilance and calm exterior.

The last reason had bothered Emhyr for weeks, even if he couldn't explain why.

When Nilfgaard's golden towers peeked over the horizon one September morning, Emhyr felt deep satisfaction wash over him. They had been gone for four months. It was the longest he had been away from court since reclaiming the throne. He had been exchanging letters with Cirilla during the summer, but as they needed to be sent via several proxies, their correspondence had been lacking in both familiarity and recent news. Emhyr had realized he didn't really miss the court or the palace (at least once he got used to washing in streams and sleeping on a bedroll when they couldn't find an inn to stay at), but he did miss his daughter and their conversations.

A single official, a retired colonel who had lost an arm but none of his fire during the second war, had been tasked with supervising Emhyr's return. He couldn't exactly walk back into the palace, especially as his disguise had been perfected during the months away. Emhyr had set out with simple clothing and a sword strapped to his side. During his reign, he had never abandoned physical training, but had carried it out in secret with the instruction of a single fighting master. Possessing the skills to defend himself were useful, and even more so when next to no one knew about them.

During the summer, Emhyr had ended up acquiring a light armor, crafted to him by an elven armorer as a thanks for the parlay. He'd broken it in, fighting Skjall and Salla, and even getting tips from Viessa and Surne. It fit him in a way he couldn't remember his ceremonial suit of armor of ever doing. With a trimmed, black beard and messy, short hair, he looked more like a soldier of fortune than a former ruler. The knowledge made him feel good inside, as if this, too, could have been his life.

Colonel Visscher blinked at Emhyr with no recognition until he showed the man his ring of office and shed a drop of blood on it to make it flash bright red. Visscher broke into a wide smile, greeting him politely and sweeping a bow before escorting him into the tunnels that ran from his estate to the palace. The man seemed all too delighted to take in his changed appearance, but Emhyr decided to let it slide. If anything, it was amusing.

Emhyr bid goodbyes to his four companions, who he knew would be discreetly escorted to their respective lodgings, and set out towards the palace. The last stretch of the journey had been hard on his back, and despite having enjoyed the freedom Emhyr couldn't wait to indulge in the imperial baths and kitchens.

He had given Cirilla his word he would come see her the minute he returned, and he intended to keep his promise. He considered changing into something more formal, but as the impersonator had already returned from Toussaint, he decided against it. They had timed the exchange well: the doppler had made it to Nilfgaard only a day before Emhyr, and would later slip out using the same tunnel. Emhyr had offered him a deal so lucrative he would not need worry about being out-bidded.

Some part of him was also feeling amused at the thought of letting Cirilla see him in this guise. He'd thought his sense of humour had suffered irreparable damage during the hard years of the wars, but apparently it had been revived during the months spent with the Skelligan siblings.

At the end of the tunnel, Emhyr shed another drop of his blood and opened the door which led to the private chambers he'd had prepared for his return. They were nothing lavish, a simple bath and a sitting room, adjoined by a bed chamber; only meant for him to regroup and rest before emerging back into the palace. Emhyr pressed his hand against the smooth, glossy blue rock that had been mounted on the doorframe. It pulsed twice, a calming opalescent glow telling him his summons had been received.

He walked to the desk and begun to unload his notes and diaries from his satchel. He'd kept both a personal journal as well as a more political one, and was keen on reading through his writings. They could prove both entertaining and useful in planning the next journey. He planned on letting Cirilla read them, too. 

There was a knock on the door. A serving girl entered, curtsied, and wheeled in a table laden with food and wine. She nodded at him and left the room quickly, clearly none the wiser she had just served the former emperor. Emhyr smiled to himself and went to pour the wine.

The door flew open soon after, and Cirilla entered. Her eyes widened as she took in Emhyr's appearance, and the person walking behind him almost stumbled when they tried to avoid bumping into her.

”Father! Welcome back!” Cirilla grinned and rushed to hug him. Emhyr hugged her back, noting with satisfaction that she didn't seem tired or stressed. When he raised his eyes, he saw that Geralt of Rivia was still standing by the door, frozen at the spot and staring at him. When their eyes met, he seemed to force himself to stop gawking and shook his head.

”Wow. This is... unexpected,” he got out, scratching his head.

Emhyr lifted an eyebrow.

”Please, close the door.” Geralt obeyed and then cast a look at Cirilla, clearly torn between annoyance and amusement.

”You could've warned me. I almost thought there was a bandit in the palace,” he said, stealing another look at Emhyr, who pursed his lips. He hadn't thought the witcher would be visiting Cirilla, or that she would drag him into their meeting.

”A common brigand could hardly hope to enter this room. It is sealed against any interruptions,” he told them, sitting down and motioning them to do the same. Geralt chuckled.

”Now I get why Ciri was so secretive about your destination,” he said. Emhyr looked at his in question and the witcher shrugged. ”I noticed you'd sent a doppler to Toussaint and came to investigate.”

”How could you tell?” Emhyr asked, feeling a tendril of worry sneak through him. Geralt waved a hand at him, still as unconcerned with formalities as ever.

”Got nothing to worry about. I've known you for so long I could simply tell he was a doppler by the way he held himself. Everyone else is very convinced you have come to enjoy quiet life near Beauclair,” he explained. His smile returned, mischievous. ”Anna Henrietta has been _livid_ you have declined every not-so-subtle invitation to the palace.”

Emhyr actually laughed at that, earning a surprised look from Geralt.

”Well, all else notwithstanding, my journey has served a purpose,” he said, drawing a laughter from both Cirilla and Geralt.

”Well, how was it?” Cirilla asked, her eyes shining with curiosity and delight. ”I must say, seeing you like this is a novelty in itself,” she added, her grin mirroring that of the witcher. Emhyr decided he liked her easy delight at something so simple, making a mental note to repeat this in the future.

”The journey was a success. The elven guerrillas will begin to turn themselves in in Dol Blathanna during he course of next year. They will submit to Francesca Findabair, and will not be required to swear fealty directly to Nilfgaard. In exchange, they will serve some form of punishments for their crimes and subsequently act as envoys in our service for four years,” he told her. The whole story was much longer, but it could wait until tomorrow.

Geralt leaned forward, his brow furrowed.

”Wait, really? You traveled to Dol Blathanna to negotiate with Scoia'tael guerrillas?” he asked, his voice incredulous. Emhyr nodded.

”Yes. However, they were an individual group which has been causing some amount of trouble for the past ten years.” Geralt was still frowning, looking at Emhyr like he was trouble understanding simple words.

”Isn't that, um, something your heralds and diplomats should be doing?” he asked.

”You're not entirely wrong,” Emhyr said, settling on to the plush cushions and starting with the food. ”However, the groups I'm making plans on visiting are ones that have caused considerable trouble in the past, and are yet to be brought under our banners despite considerable efforts. My word and presence holds the kind of power no envoy could ever hope to command, and thus speeds up the negotiations considerably.”

Geralt was still looking at Emhyr like he couldn't exactly pinpoint what bothered him most about all this. Cirilla gave him a grin.

”My father means to say he got bored.”

Geralt burst out laughing, throwing his head back. Emhyr rolled his eyes in what he hoped was dignified manner. It was hard to look imposing and regal when he was the least well-dressed person in the room, although he could tell it wouldn't have worked in the present company anyway.

”How were you handling life outside the palace? It's dangerous out there,” Geralt chuckled, but Emhyr could see the witcher was finally interested. Emhyr made a noncommittal gesture, pondering about how much he should divulge.

”I hired escorts, travelled incognito. I have made do with worse, as you undoubtedly can remember,” he finally said. Geralt nodded thoughtfully, and Emhyr was once again reminded that the witcher was not a simple man, nor a stupid one. He wouldn't have survived everything he had if he were not every bit as cunning and wise as Emhyr himself.

”But what about bandits, and monsters and such?” Geralt asked. He nodded towards Emhyr's sword, which was laying on the table. ”Don't tell me you actually had to use that.”

Emhyr smiled then, clearly catching Geralt off guard with the expression.

”You would be surprised, witcher.”

 

**II**

Before the next summer rolled around, Emhyr had finished three more expeditions. All of them had been successful to some extent, and every single one enough so that he'd kept on. Even when he had risked a serious frostbite when their boat had run into a midwinter storm, Emhyr had not regretted setting out. He was no longer young, but due to the elven blood in his veins he wasn't old, either. He could still serve his country. In the private corner of his mind, he had begun to think of his travels more as a personal favor he could do to Ciri. It was the least he could do, to iron out the last vestiges of rebellion and help ensure her peaceful future.

There was the added benefit of getting to travel as a normal human being and talk to people without them feeling the need to bow and be afraid. Emhyr could tell he was feeling more compassion to the daily struggles of ordinary people. He had got to see how people lived in his empire, and being treated to this kind of a vantage point gave him a new insight into the world as a whole. He'd shared his conclusions with Cirilla, who in turn could eventually enforce changes that benefited her subjects.

On a personal level, Emhyr could sense his relationship with Ciri improving. The time they spent together became more precious to both of them, and the last invisible wall between them slowly came down. It had a lot to do with Emhyr seeing the world through her eyes when he set out. He always had good stories to tell, too. Emhyr was delighted to learn Ciri loved listening him tell them.

In addition to Cirilla, only Geralt of Rivia knew the full story of Emhyr's travels. Emhyr couldn't tell whether it was a coincidence that the witcher was always present in Nilfgaard when he returned from his journeys, but there he was, and Cirilla always invited him to welcome Emhyr back. The third time it happened, Emhyr forgot to feel irritated by his presence and was in fact looking forward to sharing some insights with him, too.

He could tell the witcher was intrigued by his travels. He asked a lot of questions, most of them of no greater importance, and kept ribbing him about his supposed prowess in battles. The reason for that was self-evident: The only thing Emhyr had kept to himself was his combat abilities, an age-old habit and caution preventing him from sharing that information with anyone. He could tell Geralt was dying to know whether he could use his sword, and the continued interest amused him enough to keep up the game.

In the course of the year, Emhyr also grew closer with him through their shared talks, and on his last travel to Nazair he even included short messages to Geralt in his letters to Cirilla. Nothing terribly important, just anecdotes he knew would amuse both his daughter and the man who had raised her.

 

Come May, Emhyr sat in his study and looked over the latest reports. He had requested all material that had been available to him about a rogue mage in northern Toussaint, but there was simply not enough information to satisfy him. He had been planning this particular journey for close to six months. The mage had been causing trouble for several years, but her efforts had increased greatly during the past year. All intel seemed to indicate she worked alone, but Emhyr's spies had not been able to locate even the base of operations. He only knew the approximate area where she had been seen.

Dealing with a rogue sorceress was dangerous, and Emhyr knew he couldn't risk bringing a mage of his own into the equation. All evidence suggested the woman was unstable and didn't react well to other magic users, content on wreaking havoc on their own. The Skelligan siblings had departed for the summer, keen on visiting their home isles, and thus were unavailable to him anyway. Viessna and Surna Gladrun had suffered minor injuries on the last leg of the Nazair journey, and Emhyr didn't want to risk their lives on this kind of a mission. He'd grown fond of them, even the almost-mute Aen Seidhe.

Normally, Emhyr wouldn't have troubled himself with a single rebellious individual, but there was sufficient evidence to indicate the sorceress had been conducting some revolutionary medical reseach before turning vagabond. If she could be persuaded to lay down her vengeance, she could prove extremely useful in the fight against epidemics which continued to appear across the empire.

In the course of the year, Emhyr had been entertaining the thought of someday hiring Geralt of Rivia to accompany him. The time they had spent together told Emhyr they could get along well enough, and Geralt would be an ideal bodyguard. Emhyr could count on his skills, but also on his discretion and wish to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

The more Emhyr thought about the issue, turning the plans for the travel over in his head, the better an idea it started to seem. He could forgo hiring anyone else if Geralt accompanied him, because a single witcher was better than a company of ordinary soldiers. Between the two of them, they could make good time, cutting the time shorter. And Geralt, for all his supposed witcher neutrality, had seemed to approve of Emhyr's comings and goings. He was working for peace, after all, and for Ciri.

 

”I thought you'd never ask.”

Emhyr lifted an eyebrow, regarding the delighted-looking witcher sitting opposite him. Geralt shrugged, unperturbed by Emhyr's stern expression.

”Your travels seem fascinating, I won't even try to deny that. I was actually considering _asking_ you to let me come along sometime, but seeing as you're willing to pay me...” he trailed off, still grinning. Emhyr sighed and shook his head, but a smile was threatening to take over his face. He and Geralt had a long history, most of it complicated, but in the end they knew each other quite well and had managed to build some trust after joining their forces to find Cirilla and seeing her safely to the throne.

”Well, I'm glad to see you are willing. My plan was to set out in three weeks' time. If you wish to accompany me, we will need to start making plans,” Emhyr told him and noted with satisfaction that Geralt's demeanor immediately became more focused.

”Care to tell me where we're going?” Geralt asked, moving to stand next to the desk and glancing at the maps and papers. Emhyr pointed to the area where the sorceress had been spotted several times during the past few months.

”In northern Toussaint, a rogue mage has been causing trouble for a long time. She is an unusual case in being a single operative, but we have reason to believe she served as an epidemiologist, working closely with the sorcerer named Alexander.”

Geralt heaved a sigh, and the tone of it told Emhyr that once again, Geralt's involvement in crucial events had escaped his notice.

”Yeah. I ran into his notes when I went to lift the curse on Fyke Isle in Velen. Keira Metz was desperately interested in those, too,” he said, causing Emhyr to sit up straight and stare at him.

”Where are these notes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and failing miserably. The thought of a sorceress like _Keira Metz_ having access to Alexander's notes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Geralt waved a hand, smiling.

”Don't worry. I had approximately that same same reaction when she tried to steal them. She even tried to proposition me to get them, but... Well, anyway, they're secure in Corvo Bianco. I can get them for you if you promise you'll not unleash a wave of Catriona on your enemies,” he joked. Emhyr felt a wave of nausea wash over him, and upon seeing his face Geralt sobered.

”I would never-” Emhyr began, and Geralt nodded, silencing him with an apologetic look.

”I know, Emhyr. I'm sorry, it was a crap joke,” he said, looking sheepish. ”I'm still getting used to... well, you,” he continued, not elaborating on what he meant by that. Emhyr huffed a laugh and felt his ire subside.

”Apology accepted. You will need to get used to a lot more of me, if we're to travel together,” he said. Geralt laughed.

”Yeah. Come to think of it, I've been meaning to ask... I'm guessing you don't go by 'Emhyr' when you travel?”

Emhyr looked down at the papers, but didn't really see them as he shook his head. He'd adopted the first alias that had come to mind when he'd first set out. No one else in his small company knew what the name meant to him, but now...

Emhyr raised his eyes and met Geralt's.

”I'm going by 'Duny.' I trust you will find it easy enough to remember.”

Geralt looked at him for a long time and then, inexplicably, smiled.

”Duny,” he repeated, clearly making up his mind about something. ”Yeah, that should be no trouble.”

 

The next weeks were filled with planning and discussions. Emhyr was by now in the habit of laying out a route and preparing accordingly, and Geralt seemed fine by that. The witcher had his own insights on how they should travel, on account of having resided semi-permanently in Toussaint for some years now. Emhyr found it easy enough to accept Geralt's input.

It took Emhyr two weeks to remember that he had never laid out the terms of Geralt's contract. They had simply got to work, and even that was unusual. Usually, Emhyr had made the plans by himself and then informed his escorts on them; Geralt participated in the process from the start, never worrying about stepping on the toes of a former emperor. The thought sat uneasy with Emhyr, until he decided to dismiss it. Geralt was no ordinary man and no ordinary follower, and he had vastly more experience about roaming the wilds. Besides, Emhyr felt vaguely uncomfortable at the thought of treating Geralt like just another bodyguard; they had spent too much time together by then, and they had too much shared history. Geralt had never feared him, and he wouldn't start bowing and calling Emhyr 'Your Majesty' now.

The fact that Geralt never asked about his pay was peculiar, but in the end Emhyr was not entirely immune to curiosity. He wanted to see how the witcher would go about it. He was certain it had never been forgotten.

 

The first unexpected thing happened two days before their departure. In hindsight, the matter Emhyr had wanted to discuss had not been very important, and he should have let it rest until the following morning.

Emhyr had sent word to Geralt and requested a meeting sometime after dinner to discuss the arrangements of them sneaking out of the palace. He'd trusted that the new boy Mererid had hired as a personal messenger would succeed in a task as simple as finding the witcher and informing him of Emhyr's wish to visit him.

_ Evidently not, _ he thought distantly to himself, as he had entered Geralt's quarters and immediately realized he'd walked in on something private.

The witcher was in bed with a young woman  _ and _ a man, all three of them staring at him with wide eyes and frozen in place. Emhyr's mind supplied him with the information that the woman was a daughter of a minor nobleman in his service, and that the man worked in the armory.

”Ah. It seems my request to meet you after dinner has not reached you,” he said, trying desperately to sound like he didn't want to turn heel and escape the situation. Geralt shook his head, glancing at his bedmates furtively. Emhyr saw the woman was trying to suppress a smile. The man kept looking back and forth between Geralt and Emhyr, his face growing redder by the minute.

”Sorry 'bout that,” Geralt finally said, looking embarrassed.

”No need to apologize. I will see you in my quarters when you are finished,” Emhyr told him, trying not to smile, and finally took his leave.

He made it all the way back into his private rooms before he fully realized what had happened. Once he was safely behind closed doors, Emhyr sank into a chair and let out a laugh. The sheer absurdity of the situation amused him immensely. He could only imagine what had happened after he had left.

And then his imagination suppplied him with a picture of the three of them, as they had been just as Emhyr had stepped into the room, and his laughter died away. They had clearly been finished with the frantic part of their romp, but Geralt's hands had been caressing the man's cock languidly as he'd kissed him, the woman pleasuring him in turn. The whole room had been warm and absolutely reeked of sex.

Emhyr opened his eyes and frowned, realizing he was growing hard under his formal tunic.

Emhyr stared at nothing in particular for a long moment, forcing his body and mind to calm down. If he let this take over his thoughts, he might as well cancel the whole journey. It would not do to lust after the witcher when they both had a job to do.

Emhyr sighed and poured himself a cup of wine. He knew himself well enough to see that trying to deny what he felt was energy-consuming and ultimately futile. He and Geralt had been growing closer, and now that Emhyr had accidentally seen this side of him, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. According to what he knew, Geralt had always been fond of having a regular partner to warm his bed. Being about to embark on a long journey with Emhyr, it was only natural he'd want to indulge himself. It had been surprising to see the journeyman armorer in his bed, too, but Emhyr wasn't privy to Geralt's desires. In Nilfgaard, same-sex relationships were accepted and normal, but Nordlings still held some weird prejudice against them.

_ One more thing to correct, _ Emhyr thought idly.

A knock on the door drew him back to the present moment. He stood up and opened the door, revealing an embarrassed witcher. Emhyr gestured him to enter and sit down, pouring some wine for him as well. Geralt nodded in thanks, not meeting his eye. Emhyr sat down and regarded him for a while.

“Please don't punish the boy. I found him, he said he'd been afraid of me,” Geralt said finally, looking up. “I'm sorry,” he added, quieter. Emhyr stared at him. Geralt defending the boy was nothing surprising, but his apology was. It seemed sincere, but Emhyr didn't know what he was apologizing for.

“Don't worry. I will reprimand him, but there will be no punishment,” Emhyr answered, still trying to understand why Geralt seemed to glum. “I would like to apologize, as well. I should have sent someone for you instead of barging in. That was inconsiderate of me,” he offered, feeling like he should extend this courtesy to Geralt. If nothing else, to ease the discomfort that had settled between them.

Geralt looked at him sharply, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was a long, tense silence, and then his lips strated to quiver. Emhyr could feel his own laughter bubble free. Geralt's resolve broke first and he doubled over, laughing hard. Emhyr couldn't help himself, then, but joined in. It eased the worry weighing in his chest.

“Oh gods, you truly managed to startle me,” Geralt chuckled when he finally managed to draw a breath and take a sip of his wine. Emhyr wiped his eyes and smiled.

“I have to admit, seeing the famous White Wolf so utterly surprised was something I never imagined getting to witness,” Emhyr offered, earning another laugh from Geralt, who regarded him with something that was equal parts of embarrasment and mirth.

“Well, I never thought I'd get to see you look so openly taken aback, so I guess we're even,” he said, leaning back and huffing. “Shit, I feel like an ass.”

“No need. I trust you explained the situation to your partners before leaving?” Emhyr asked.

Geralt looked away and bit his lip. He looked mortified. Emhyr chuckled.

“Evidently not.”

 

Their departure was to happen in the evening. Geralt had to be seen leaving the palace, as he and Cirilla had been spreading a tale of him taking a contract somewhere in Velen. Emhyr was to leave by the tunnel and to meet Geralt outside the city walls. That was one of the risky parts of their plan of not hiring another escort, but Emhyr had assured Geralt he could manage two miles on horseback and alone.

The witcher had looked at him, frowning. Emhyr had known right then that Geralt still thought he couldn't defend himself. He had told the witcher he had been training, but apparently he had not been believed. It had felt vaguely insulting, until Geralt had stepped closer and grasped his shoulder under the light armor he had been wearing by then. The witcher was taller than him, and in his full armor he looked imposing, but not the least bit scary to Emhyr.

“I can't help but feel responsible,” he had said in a low voice. “Please don't get killed on your way to the meeting place. Ciri'd never forgive me.”

Emhyr had been struck silent, cocking his head. Geralt had sighed and stepped back, but not before he'd given Emhyr's shoulder a squeeze.

Emhyr mulled it over as he walked through the tunnel. Maybe Geralt was starting to regret agreeing to this? Even when Emhyr knew the witcher was worrying too much about his charge's skills to defend himself, the thought of Geralt wanting to see him safely to his destination made him feel calm. He had been apprehensive about going away with only one companion, but now that worry was easing.

Cirilla had never seemed worried about that, Emhyr thought as he mounted his horse and set off towards the roadside shrine they had set as their rendez-vous spot. If anything, she had seemed less worried than on previous occasions. Emhyr had made her meet all his regular companions, and Cirilla had approved of them, but this was different. Once again, Emhyr was struck with the knowledge of how implicitly Ciri trusted Geralt. The thought seemed to seep deeper into his brain, calming him. If Ciri, the Lady of Space and Time, felt safe with Geralt, so would he.

 

Thirty minutes later Emhyr was staring down on a bandit who was yelling at him to get down from the saddle and hand over his belongings. He could  _ see _ the shrine and the faint glow of a torch in the distance, and these three lowlifes dared to hinder him? He was fairly certain Geralt could hear the commotion and was likely already rushing his way.

The man slashed at him with his sword, and Emhyr's horse spooked. The blade missed his thigh by good three inches, but only because Emhyr was busy flying from the saddle, landing in a clumsy roll that he knew he'd feel the following day.

The bandit rushed towards him, rusty longsword flailing, and Emhyr knew he couldn't afford to wait for Geralt. He drew his own sword, taking several steps back to avoid the onslaught and then drove the man back just as quickly. The bandit seemed to realize then he was in deep shit just as Emhyr drove the tip of his sword between his ribs.

A yell made him turn, the other two coming at him from where they had been standing a bit further away. Emhyr raised his sword, ready to parry. The two of them were equally clumsy, but they were big and enraged by the death of their comrade. Emhyr danced away, concentrating on not stumbling.

The sound of a horse in full gallop was the most welcome sound he had ever heard. He could just hear Geralt shout something as his ever-unfortunately named mare ran past, steel flashing through the darkness. A head went flying through the air, and the remaining bandit gave a shriek of horror. Emhyr drove him back immediately, not turning to see if Geralt was coming back.

The man managed to get one slash at Emhyr's shoulder, the leather of his armor deflecting most of the blow, and then Emhyr's sword struck his throat at a perfect angle. The man gurgled and fell just as Geralt brought his horse to a sliding stop. The witcher jumped down, sword in hand, and clearly looking for more enemies. When he was certain they were alone, he ran to Emhyr, his eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hands flying to Emhyr's shoulders and arms, looking for injuries. For a second, Emhyr thought the man looked almost scared, before he dismissed the notion.

“I'm fine, Geralt. I have a wound on my left shoulder,” he said calmly, bringing his free hand to grasp Geralt's. The touch seemed to ground the witcher, who blew a breath and looked a bit sheepish.

“Guess I shoulda believed when you said you can handle a sword,” he muttered. Emhyr gave him a crooked smile as an answer. Geralt's eyes drew to the wound. “We should bandage that.” Emhyr nodded and let Geralt slip off the piece that covered most of his shoulders and neck. His hands were surprisingly gentle when he cleaned and bandaged the wound.

“I'm sorry I was late,” the witcher said as he helped Emhyr dress up again. “I heard the noise and came right away.” Emhyr shook his head, offering Geralt a smile.

“It's alright. You should have seen me after a gang of bandits ambushed us on our trip to Nazair in March.”

Geralt eyebrows shot up and he looked both amused and horrified.

“Do I wanna know?” he asked. Emhyr shrugged. “I had a gash that went from my elbow all the way to the wrist. Viessna, one of my companions and an Aen Seidhe assassin, stitched me up. Horribly, I might add. It's lucky I never wear short sleeves in official settings,” he told Geralt, and found himself enjoying his audience's curiosity and astonishment.

“And in unofficial ones?” Geralt asked. Emhyr realized he wanted to see the scar to believe his story. He shrugged again.

“Well, the summer in Toussaint is quite warm,” he offered, letting the subject drop.

 

Traveling with Geralt proved to be uncomplicated. The witcher always woke up at the crack of dawn. He was usually up and about by the time Emhyr opened his eyes, pressing a mug of coffee into his hands as soon as he exited the tent. They set out after breakfast, went on until lunch, then continued until they got tired, and made camp. It was easy going, and it took Emhyr almost a week to notice he'd let Geralt set the pace. The thought should have worried him; it was not akin to losing control of his life, but there was nothing he would've done differently by then. Geralt's way of traveling suited Emhyr well, and he had to admit (to himself, privately) that the witcher probably knew him a lot better than Emhyr would've believed.

The way from Nilfgaard to Toussaint was shorter than Emhyr's other travels, and they made good time. On several occasions, Geralt's senses warned them beforehand of troubles, allowing them to either circle around or prepare accordingly. They mostly stuck to uninhabitated areas in the interest of attracting as little attention as possible, but every time they stopped at villages and towns to buy supplies and food, Emhyr could tell Geralt was watching him closely.

On the fourth stop, just after three weeks of riding, Emhyr finally understood what made the witcher so curious. He had only ever seen Emhyr with subjects, people who he ruled over. If you counted out the time they had met for the first time, Geralt had only witnessed Emhyr as an emperor. Now he was getting acquainted with Duny.

Part of what made Emhyr's disguise so good was the fact that it was largely based on truths. He had tapped into his memories and experiences before the usurper's curse had been broken, and brought forth the same man he'd been before he had reclaimed his heritage. Of course, there were significant differences between Duny and Emhyr var Emreis, but still surprisingly less than one might have thought. Emhyr had been pleasantly surprised when he'd first discovered he had not actually changed as much as he'd feared.

He shared none of these insights with Geralt. He was content to watch the witcher observe him, clearly both confused and intrigued by the way Emhyr lived when he was outside the palace. When he got over the initial shock, Geralt had turned out to be jovial and easy-going, provided neither of them was in danger.

 

Four weeks into their journey, Emhyr and Geralt camped close to the spot where they would begin their search for the sorceress. Emhyr build the fire with sure hands and Geralt flicked his wrist, casting the witcher sign of  _ igni _ , causing the flames to burst to life. It was routine by then.  


Emhyr admired the simplicity of Geralt's magic. On the rare occasions they had been forced to fight, he'd seen the witcher use a variety of signs, causing their opponents to lose interest, immolate, and on one memorable occasion, fly backwards into a rock and  burst . That had been the first time Emhyr had had the dubious pleasure of encountering a rotfiend. The creature had exploded when Geralt had hit it with  _ aard _ , and proceeded to rain rotting guts and gunk on him.

When Geralt had realized what he'd done, he'd looked horrified at himself. There had been a tense silence, Emhyr observing his person which was now covered in various things he would very much have liked to burn away immediately. Then he had started to laugh at Geralt's alarm, managing to choke out something nonsensical. Geralt had watched Emhyr like he'd taken leave of his senses, and had then burst out laughing.

Emhyr had a distinct feeling that after the rotfiend incident Geralt had dropped the rest of his precautions about him. There was apparently something disarming about being covered in necrophage innards.

 

“How do you wanna go about this?” Geralt asked as he passed Emhyr a chunk of bread and poured them some of the wine Emhyr had picked up from a traveling merchant. Emhyr accepted the food and leaned against the fallen tree he had claimed as a backrest.

“We will begin by inspecting the ruined village. If we find something, we'll follow that trail. If not, we can go to the small settlement on the southern hills and try there,” he said, sipping the wine and finding it surprisingly acceptable.

Geralt nodded in agreement, focusing on slicing off thick slivers of dried meat. Emhyr watched him work, once again finding himself considering his new interest on the man. If he had thought that traveling with Geralt would have put out the flame that had made its home inside Emhyr's chest, he'd been dreadfully mistaken. When he'd had to depend on Geralt for both safety and company for weeks at a time, he'd come to find the witcher both intelligent and kind. He readily shared his stories with Emhyr, telling him about his life before and after finding Cirilla and inadvertedly explaining many things that Emhyr's spies had got wrong or missed. The picture Emhyr had of Geralt of Rivia came into focus, after years of eluding him.

And the result was that he found himself drawn to the man. What had started as curiosity and some measure of lust, was growing into something deeper and meaningful. Emhyr had not dared to examine the feeling too closely, despite knowing what it could mean.

“Are you even listening to me, Duny?”

Geralt's voice brought Emhyr back, causing him to blink. He had been staring at Geralt, and the witcher was looking at him curiously.

“No, I am not,” Emhyr admitted, fighting to keep his embarrasment concealed and feeling an inexplicable rush of joy at beind called Duny. Geralt laughed at his admission, unoffended.

“I asked what's on your mind. Tomorrow could be dangerous,” he repeated, finishing preparing their modest dinner and bringing over a bowl of some wild legumes he'd dug up and the sliced pieces of meat. He sat down next to Emhyr and set down the dishes. They often ate like this, sharing the food from the same plate. It was surprisingly intimate for an act born out of necessity.

“I suppose. I'm not nervous, though. I have confidence in your skills both as a tracker and a fighter,” Emhyr answered, starting to eat. The occasionaly brush of Geralt's fingers against his when they reached for the same bowl was sending creeping tendrils of warmth up Emhyr's arm. It was the same tranquil excitement that had been consuming Emhyr for weeks. Their shoulders touched occasionally as they ate and watched the campfire luminate the darkening evening.

When they finished eating, Emhyr went out to dump the scraps further away. He couldn't resist sitting down on the same place next to Geralt when he returned, allowing himself to enjoy the proximity. Geralt didn't seem to mind, simply pouring them both the last third of the wine and leaning back against the trunk. The last fourth of the sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and dark clouds were slowly covering the sky from east.

Emhyr leaned back, too, and his left side came to rest so close to Geralt he could feel his heat. He swallowed, wondering for the thousandth time how it had come to be so.

“I like travelling with you.”

For a second, Emhyr thought he'd blurted out the words himself. Then he realized it had been Geralt's low, relaxed voice. The witcher was watching him from the corner of his eye, grinning. Emhyr huffed a laugh.

“Really, now? Not finding yourself burdened by the whims of a retired monarch, stuck with little else company?” he teased back, knowing by now that Geralt's prime method of showing appreciation was constant banter.

Geralt laughed too, and shook his head.

“Surprisingly, no. You're like a whole different person from what I thought I remembered. Retirement suits you, I'd say.”

Emhyr smiled, swirling his wine before taking a sip. He was not drunk, just softened around the edges.

“I certainly feel like that. I still carry everything I have done and been with me, but these journeys have allowed me to take a step back from all that,” he said, and found it was finally easier to talk about his past.

“In the light of what I've seen and experienced during the past year, I have both made peace with some of my choices and found others unacceptable,” he added, suddenly wishing to be honest. In the corner of his eye he saw Geralt watching him closely, his eyes almost glowing in the light of the fire. The witcher sighed as he finished his wine and set down his cup.  


“I'm not gonna say you have done all good, but you did pacify the North,” he began and swallowed. “I thought for a long time I would never forgive you for what you did to Ciri, but seeing as _she_ has forgiven you, I have little reason not to,” he continued, so quietly Emhyr had to strain to hear it.

When the words sunk in, Emhyr felt his body suddenly become lighter. He felt dizzy. He had never dared to hope he would win back his daughter's trust, not fully after everything he'd put her through. And now Geralt, the person who knew her better than anyone, claimed Cirilla had forgiven him?

Geralt must have seen his expression, because he suddenly wrapped an arm around Emhyr's shoulders and pulled him closer. Emhyr leaned on him without a thought. Geralt's head came to rest against his, his stubble scraping against Emhyr's hair.

“It's okay,” the witcher murmured. Emhyr drew in a shuddering breath, attempting to calm his swirling thoughts and soaking in the profound relief. He could feel some fundamentally hurting part of himself melt away, and realized it was the dead weight of guilt inside his heart.  


“I don't deserve it, but I'm going to make sure I never betray her trust again,” Emhyr said quietly. He could smell Geralt, road dust and blade oil, and could tell the witcher was able to support his weight. What's more, he apparently didn't mind doing it, offering Emhyr comfort he didn't deserve, either.

“I know. I don't know how, but I'm beginning to trust you,” Geralt hummed. Emhyr turned his head, and cast an incredulous glance at him. Geralt gave him a crooked smile, almost as if inviting him to give some scornful remark. Nothing would have been further from the truth of what he wanted to do.

“I will endeavor to be worth it, then,” Emhyr said, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. “I know my word means very little to you right now, but maybe some day I will be able to prove myself worth your trust.”

Geralt's face broke into a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling. Emhyr had only seen him smile like that to Cirilla, and now that blinding expression was directed at him. It made the witcher look younger and kinder, never diminishing his otherworldliness.

Emhyr lifted his hand and cupped Geralt's cheek, realizing what he was doing only when his fingers brushed against the stubble. He froze and then made to withdraw his hand, but Geralt caught it and held it in place. They sat there, stuck in time, until Emhyr felt something inside himself give. He pressed his lips to Geralt's.

The witcher let out a soft sigh and threaded his hands into Emhyr's hair, kissing him back gently. Emhyr felt his lips move against his, and the small flame inside his chest grew stronger, threatening to drown him altogether.

When he finally drew back for breath, Geralt leaned his brow to his, his eyes closed. They stayed that way, until Emhyr drew away and cupped his cheek again.

“You get to decide whether you want to pursue this,” he whispered. Just as Geralt opened his mouth to answer, the first raindrops fell.

They got the tent up in record time, and were both still soaked to the bone by the time they scrambled inside.

Inside, Emhyr tried in vain to dry off his hair as he struggled his way out of his soaked armor and underclothes. He hoped this was simply a normal Toussaintous summer storm and not one of those vengeful clouds that kept on raining for weeks at a time. He sighed as he picked his way through his backbag, trying to find something to wear for the night.

A warm hand brushing against his back made him start and turn around sharply. Geralt was watching him curiously, his hand hovering in the air between them. When he met Emhyr's eyes, he let his hand fall back against the skin, still burning hot. Emhyr drew in a controlled breath, focusing on the caress.

Geralt's hands mapped his back and shoulder blades with slow thoroughness. He shuffled closer, and the next thing Emhyr knew was a strong hand winding its way around his middle and drawing him back against a strong chest. He let himself be moved, not daring to make a sound in fear of Geralt snapping out of this, whatever it might be.

Another hand came up under his arm, cupping Emhyr's jaw and turning his head sideways. Geralt pressed kisses on his throat, and finally Emhyr's breath hitched. He could feel himself growing hard under the cover of a shirt he had thrown in his lap after stripping, and he guessed Geralt must have smelled his arousal a long time ago. He let out a shuddering breath as Geralt nipped at the skin under his ear, his other hand tracing idle patterns on his chest and stomach.

“Witcher,” Emhyr said, his voice rough. “We are not in a hurry.” He could feel Geralt smile against the back of his neck, pressing yet another open-mouthed kiss to his heating skin.

“No, the exact opposite,” he answered in a low voice. He pulled Emhyr into his lap, and Emhyr drew in a breath, both at the strength the witcher demonstrated by moving him so efforlessly, and at the press of his hard length against the small of Emhyr's back.

“I plan on taking my time,” Geralt continued, sounding pleased by the reaction he'd gotten out of Emhyr. His hand wandered ever lower, and Emhyr felt his belly tighten in anticipation. “Now that we finally got here,” he heard the witcher whisper as his fingers dipped under the shirt and brushed against his erection. Emhyr moaned, the sound drowned out by the steady thrum of the rain against the tent. He felt Geralt let out a hot huff of breath as his fingers wrapped around Emhyr.

Emhyr didn't last long, but after he regained enough of his senses he turned and pushed the witcher to lay on his back. He stroked him to completion, learning the new ways of pleasing a lover. It had really been a while. He had never taken another consort after he had started to look for Cirilla again. Geralt didn't seem to mind; he was reduced to a quivering, panting mess in less than five minutes.

Afterwards, he dragged Emhyr to lie against him, holding him close. He seemed satisfied and relaxed, Emhyr observed, his mind finally starting up again. He didn't dare to ask what this meant. In fact, he was reasonably happy to let it be for the time being. When they got back to Nilfgaard, they could find out whether this was something to be pursued.

And if Emhyr was content to fall asleep while being held, it was no one else's business but his own.

 

The next morning greeted him with sunshine glowing through the tent roof. Emhyr rolled over, not surprised to find himself alone in the tent. He had slep peacefully, a true dreamless slumber that he associated with satisfaction and safety. Rather than dwell on this fact, he exited the tent and dressed, spreading his damp clothes from yesterday to dry in the morning sun.

Dew and raindrops glistened everywhere, and the campfire was burning merrily. Geralt was nowhere to be seen, but Emhyr was not worried. The witcher often went away for a while, usually to see to the horses or scout a little while ahead. He spied the coffee pot next to the fire and poured himself a cup, sitting down on the log and rubbing his stubbly cheek. He'd let his hair grow out again during the winter, as it was easier to maintain the illusion he never left the court if his hair stayed the same length. He usually tied it back when he was out traveling, but now he couldn't locate the leather string he used for the purpose.

He carded his fingers through his hair, trying to untangle some knots that were undoubtedly a result of the evening's activities. When warm fingers pushed their way into his hair he whirled around, almost spilling his coffee in surprise. Geralt drew back his hand, looking apologetic.

”Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” he muttered. Emhyr nodded, glad to see the witcher didn't seem to have any trouble to look him in the eye. There was a fleeting moment of indecision, and then Geralt's fingers returned, deftly sorting through the tangles and gently scratching Emhyr's scalp.

Emhyr let out a happy sigh and leaned his head back. He didn't understand why Geralt was doing this, but he wasn't about to start complaining.

”You like this,” he heard Geralt chuckle, just as he pulled Emhyr's hair back and tied it in place. Emhyr nodded, seeing no reason to deny the statement. What did it matter, anyway? They were far away from prying eyes, and he was happy to treat this as something that belonged to them alone. However fleeting this might turn out to be, he wasn't nearly strong enough to deny himself any of this.

 

They set out to start their search soon after that. Emhyr let himself slip back into his role as Duny, but armed with all his experience and knowledge, and the inflappable certainty that Geralt had his back. They rode in silence, Geralt looking for anything suspicious and Emhyr thinking about possible courses of action. He had several plans, all of which would most likely be discarded the moment they found anything, but Emhyr was nothing if not adaptive. He enjoyed throwing himself into the thick of things; as emperor, he had wielded political power and now he did the same, only the scale had changed. He liked what he did, and he was good at it.

About an hour passed without incident, but then Geralt stopped Roach and unmounted. Emhyr watched him walk around, looking at things that he couldn't see. He heard him sniff the air and then just stood there, his eyes closed, listening. It was fascinating.

”What is it?” Emhyr asked as Geralt mounted up again. The witcher shook his head.

”Dunno yet. But I've got a bad feeling,” he said, looking pensive. ”I know it's no use to try to get you to turn back, so I won't,” he added. Emhyr nodded. Geralt looked at him, then, really looked at him. He drew his horse right next to Emhyr's and stopped both of them. For a while, he chewed his lip.

”Duny, I need you to promise that if it goes south, you will leave. If you have to escape and leave me, you do that. Got it?” he said, frowning. His hand reached out and grasped Emhyr's. Emhyr looked at their joined hands and then to Geralt's grim face.

”Not a chance,” he answered. Geralt's frown deepened.

”Ciri can't lose both of us,” he said quietly. Emhyr shook his head.

”She won't lose either. Geralt, no, _listen_ to me,” he pressed on, not letting the witcher to get a word in. ”I'm not speaking idly, and I'm not only referring to last night either, when I say that I value you as a person. Both for Ciri's benefit and for selfish reasons. I would never forgive myself if I left you behind in favor of escaping danger.”

Geralt blinked at him, his mouth hanging open. Emhyr squeezed his hand once and let it go. ”If the situation seems too dire, we will both go. This mission is not worth risking it all.”

Finally, Geralt gathered his senses. He grinned.

”You called her Ciri,” he only said as they continued onwards. Emhyr shook his head and sighed, hiding a smile.

 

Half an hour later, they were looking at a derelict little village. To Emhyr's eye, it looked like a hurricane had torn through it; roofs had collapsed, the ground was turned over in several places, and there wasn't a soul alive. They dismounted and tied their horses on a tree at the edge of the village, continuing on foot. Geralt kept looking over his shoulder, like he expected something to jump at them.

”The reports indicate the village was destroyed two months ago, under unclear circumstances. It was a small enough settlement and all the people were killed, so understandably the local authorities have not been very keen to investigate,” Emhyr said quietly. They had went over the details over and over again, but he felt vaguely apprehensive. There was something sinister about the destroyed houses and the silence.

”No surprise there,” Geralt muttered, crouching down to look at the upturned mound of earth. He scooped some dirt up and sniffed at it before wiping his hands clean. ”There's something wrong here. The air and the soil smell weird but I can't place it,” he said in a low voice. Emhyr nodded. He could feel it too, if only as a nebulous sense of unease. After his curse had been broken, he had still had a weak sense of the supernatural. It mostly allowed him to feel strong magic that tried to remain hidden, and even that was inaccurate.

Suddenly, an inhumane shriek tore through the air, causing both of them to jump. Geralt's silver blade hissed its way out of the scabbard and he grabbed Emhyr's arm, eyes peering towards the source of the sound. Emhyr drew his own blade; steel, but still a comforting presence. He nodded at Geralt whose face looked pained. They stalked around a collapsed longhouse and came to what had once been a small market square.

In the middle of it stood the sorceress they had been looking for. She was looking at them, her eyes wild and unfocused. Emhyr could see right away that attempting any sort of discussion was out of the question. He immediately turned his focus into their retreat plan, making a mental note to see her apprehended or destroyed.

The sorceress watched them, unmoving, her mouth working furiously. She was holding a slab of clay, into which symbols were etched in red. Emhyr heard Geralt utter a string of curse words under his breath as he stepped forward, partly in front of Emhyr.

”We mean you no harm,” the witcher called out. The sorceress' eyes boggled, and she let out a laughter.

”And yet you approach me warily, sword in hand,” she yelled, backing a few steps and colliding with an upturned cart. She hissed and stumbled. Geralt's shoulders tensed.

”We will leave you be, if you let us go,” he continued, lowering the tip of his sword. The sorceress laughed again.

”I do not believe you, witcher! I know who you are, who both of you are! I've known for days you hunt me!”

Emhyr felt cold dread settle over him. So much of his success in his travels hinged on his ability to pass unknown. How had this madwoman seen through him?

Geralt glanced at Emhyr over his shoulder, clearly warning him to stay quiet. Emhyr could see the witcher was thinking very quickly, his left hand fingering a bomb bound on his belt.

”I wouldn't try that, Geralt of Rivia! My power has grown infinitely more stronger, you stand no chance of besting me,” the sorceress warned him, her eyes flickering to the movement. ”You will die, both of you, and there is nothing you can do.”

Geralt shook his head.

”No one needs to die. That seal you have, I've seen one before. You've imprisoned a djinn, haven't you?”

Emhyr suppressed a groan. A powerful, capricious magical spirit bound to the will of a lunatic? Just what he had hoped. The sorceress grinned a wicked smile, lifting the seal higher so they could see. Emhyr saw it the same time Geralt did. The witcher took several steps backwards and dragged Emhyr with him.

The seal was cracked.

Geralt gripped Emhyr by the shoulder so hard it hurt. His eyes had gone wide.

”You have not bound it fully,” he said, his voice very calm. ”It will not obey you. You hear me? The djinn will destroy you."

The woman scoffed, her grin still as wide and senseless as before.

”I have succeeded,” she cooed, bringing the seal down and pressing it against her heart. Geralt cast a last glance at the sorceress and then he was running away, dragging Emhyr with him. They stumbled back the way they had come, Emhyr struggling to keep up with Geralt.

”Djinn, hear me and obey! Grant me the supreme magical power, make me unique in my prowess!”

”Shit, shit, shit!” Geralt whispered. He stopped and drew Emhyr closer, his eyes looking towards the square.

Emhyr was aware of an otherworldly roar starting somewhere behind them and then the world exploded into white light.

He was flying through the air, his eyes blind and ears deafened by the power of the djinn bursting free. As if somewhere far away he heard Geralt yell, a long, agonized howl. Then he crashed against a crumbling, rotting wall, and all breath was knocked out of him.

Emhyr lay there a while, trying to blink his eyes and draw in breaths. Everything seemed to be moving very slowly.

When he finally managed to lift his head, he saw that the previously dilapidated village had been almost completely leveled. Dust was swirling around him. Emhyr dragged himself to his knees, trying to determine whether he had broken any bones. So far it seemed like he had bad bruises and a nosebleed, but nothing worse. There had been a sturdy stone wall between him and the djinn, and it had most likely saved his life.

”Geralt?” he rasped out, coughing and hissing in pain. He searched around for the witcher, dread beginning to claw through him. A few agonizing seconds passed, and then Emhyr spotted a familiar boot sticking out from under a collapsed roof of a shed. A sound that a weaker man might have called a sob escaped Emhyr, and he sent out a silent thanks that Geralt had not been crushed under anything heavier.

”Geralt?” he called out again, and his insides felt like they turned liquid with with relief when he heard an answering groan. ”I'm going to get you out,” he said. Geralt answered something, but Emhyr couldn't make out the words. Emhyr braced his feet on the ground and lifted the roof. The shed had been a little more than a shamble even when it had still stood, and now its rotten pieces moved with relative ease.

Emhyr dug his hands under the last piece and lifted it. Geralt groaned and sat up, crawling away from the wreckage. He slumped to the ground as Emhyr let the roof fall and turned to look at him.

”Shit, I feel like I've been hit by a shaelmaar,” Geralt muttered and rubbed his face as he stood up. Emhyr felt his breath catch in his throat as his brain caught up with what he was seeing.

Geralt looked back at him and then seemed to notice something was wrong. Emhyr was gaping, there was no other word for it, his mouth moving and no sounds escaping.

”Duny? What is it?” Geralt asked as he picked up his sword, wincing as he did so.

Emhyr looked at Geralt, seeing him and _not_ seeing him. His own eyes were not met with golden irises, but light brown ones with normal pupils. Geralt's hair, which he had tied up the same morning, had come loose and was tumbling down the left side of his head, its rich brown and copper catching the sunlight. And his skin was flushed, as his brain finally caught up with his senses.

 

**III**

Emhyr dipped the wad of cotton into the antiseptic he carried and brushed it down the gash on Geralt's shoulder. The witcher hissed as the alcohol burned him and then stiffened as he seemed to realize how much more intense the pain suddenly seemed. His head sank and Emhyr could see his hands clench into fists in his lap. His hair was still loose, hanging down his face and hiding it mostly from view.

They had dragged themselves out of the decimated village and found their horses panicking but mercifully still present. Then they had ridden as far as they could manage in their state, before collapsing down by a stream. They had lied there for a long while, both trying to absorb what the hell had taken place.

Emhyr had been the first to push himself back into action. He had stripped off his own armor and then prodded Geralt until he had done the same. The witcher had moved cautiously, clearly in pain and even more clearly unused to the sensation. It was then that Emhyr had known, instinctually, what had happened. He couldn't find it in himself to speak the words aloud, but set to bandaging them both in silence.

When he had finished with everything else, he paused. He could see Geralt had a wound on his chin, still bleeding sluggishly. He hesitated, hand hovering in the air until he reached and gently placed his fingers on Geralt's cheek.

Geralt jumped and withdrew, his eyes flicking to Emhyr and then back to his hands. Emhyr sighed and reached out again, cupping the uninjured side of Geralt's face.

”Let me see,” he said quietly. ”Let me help.”

Slowly, Geralt lifted his gaze and allowed Emhyr to tilt his face up. The witcher still looked exactly the same, but everything the mutations had given him had been stripped away. The scar over his left eye was still there, but now it bisected a brown eye, the eyebrow similar coppery brown as his hair.

Emhyr realized he was staring and quickly set out to clean the wound. It mercifully stopped bleeding after he applied a bit of pressure to it. He was really bad at stitching wounds.

When he finished he didn't immediately withdraw his hand, letting his fingers rest lightly on Geralt's cheek. Geralt kept staring at him, his brow furrowed and his expression unreadable.

”Well, how bad is it?” he finally asked, his voice familiar but betraying a hint of uncertainty. Emhyr realized, with a sudden rush of affection, that the witcher was feeling self-conscious.

”Not bad at all,” he said, smiling ruefully. ”You look a bit different, though.” He turned towards his bags and dug out a shaving kit from the bottom. It held a small mirror which he handed to Geralt. He watched as the witcher peered into the reflecting surface, his eyes widening.

”Well, shit,” Geralt choked out. He let the mirror drop and sat back against the rock. ”I was hoping I had a concussion and that's why everything feels so weird,” he whispered, his eyes going unfocused. Emhyr felt a stab of compassion and shuffled closer, grasping Geralt's hand for the lack of anything else to do.

”Weird how?” Emhyr asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt swallowed.

”All my senses seem duller. I can't access any magic,” he said, flicking his fingers the way Emhyr had come to associate with him making fires. Nothing happened. Geralt turned his head and looked at Emhyr.

”I'm normal. The djinn perverted the mage's wish and I became... collateral.”

Geralt sounded so shocked that Emhyr did the only sensible thing and dragged the man closer, hugging him against his chest. Geralt stiffened at first but then went slack, accepting the embrace.

 

The following morning found them both as uncertain about the problem at hand, but with more resolve to make do with what they got. Emhyr was profoundly relieved to discover that the djinn had only taken Geralt's mutations. The man was still a fearsome opponent in both armed and unarmed combat. He watched Geralt go through sword drills, and it was plain to see the relief in his posture as he realized he had not been rendered completely defenseless.

When Geralt finally sheathed his sword and sat down next to where Emhyr was making lunch, he seemed much less depressed. Emhyr noted that one of his wounds had opened and sighed. He suspected that their biggest issue was going to be Geralt overexerting himself out of persistent habit.

”Well, it's all gone to hell, but at least I can still fight,” Geralt huffed, a bit out of breath and clearly offended at his body for betraying him so. ”Just gotta remember I can no longer use _quen_ to block swords,” he added, pursing his lips. Emhyr smiled.

”You must fight like us mere mortals,” he said conversationally. Geralt bristled, but then he saw Emhyr was baiting him. He actually laughed, and the sound was soothing. Emhyr was glad to see Geralt was still himself, despite his looks and altered skills.

They ate in companionable silence, and then Geralt spoke up.

”I think we need to change our plans a bit,” he begun, chewing thoughtfully. ”I'm not completely useless like this, but I'd prefer not to ride all the way back to Nilfgaard with only me to protect you. I suggest we go to Corvo Bianco and send Ciri a message from there. It's only a few days ride from here, and that way we can get you home much more safely.”

Emhyr shrugged.

”Your mind certainly works as well as ever,” he answered. ”It's a good plan. And once we get back to Nilfgaard, we can start to solve this mess,” he added. His eyes were compulsively drawn to Geralt's face, and he couldn't help but smile a bit. ”I would imagine you want to return back to what you regard as normal.”

Geralt stopped eating and stared at him. He was silent for so long Emhyr started to think he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open.

”You're gonna help me?” Geralt suddenly blurted out.

Now it was Emhyr's turn to stare.

”You have been injured in my service. Of course I'm going to help you,” he said, galled to even think Geralt might think he wouldn't.

”But I'm not exactly injured,” Geralt said, rubbing his neck and hunching his shoulders fractionally. The movement seemed so out of character Emhyr simply stared some more. Geralt continued: ”I'm just, well... normal now. Sure, I can still fight and I know a lot of stuff about monsters, but now I'm just an ordinary guy-”

Emhyr lifted his hand, cutting off the uncharacteristic rambling.

”First of all, _yes_ , I will help you, and so will Ciri. We wouldn't abandon you like that. And secondly, you're anything but ordinary,” he finished, the last words coming out much gentler. Geralt fidgeted and then Emhyr could see he was blushing. The sight was so endearing Emhyr had to hide a smile, deciding it would be kinder to let it go unnoticed. For now.

 

Counting out the incident with the three ghouls (and Emhyr made a solemn promise to never tell anyone a mere ghoul managed to sneak up on Geralt of Rivia), their ride to Corvo Bianco was uneventful. They arrived just as sun was starting to set, and the whole estate was bathed in a golden red glow. It looked like a veritable paradise after being on the road for almost six weeks.

Emhyr slid down from the saddle and handed the reigns to a stable boy, who almost dropped them because he was so busy staring at Geralt. The witcher was clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but did not comment on it.

Emhyr could see where the anxiety was coming from; Geralt was worrying he would need to convince people of his identity over and over again. He was easily recognisable when you knew who he was, but at a passing glance he looked like just another world-weary mercenary who just happened to be carrying twin swords and a wolf head medallion.

Emhyr brushed his hand down the witcher's arm as they walked towards the villa. Geralt gave him a wry smile.

”We're both so well disguised we could just disappear and never be found again,” he said, just as the front door or the main building opened and a bald man with glasses emerged, looking at them apprehensively.

”What is your business, gentlemen?” he called, not unkind but clearly wary. Geralt sighed.

”It's me, B-B. Got hit by a djinn,” he answered, and Emhyr saw the man's eyes widen behind the thick lenses. He looked at Geralt for a long while and then rushed to them, giving Geralt a short bow.

”Forgive me, master Geralt. My mistake,” he said, looking genuinely sorry. Emhyr got the impression that this man (who he supposed must be Geralt's majordomo, Barnabas-Basil Foulty) and the witcher were a lot closer than was usual for a servant and his master.

Geralt clapped his hand on Barnabas-Basil's shoulder.

”No worries, B-B. You should've seen me when I took the first look in the mirror.” Barnabas-Basil looked torn between being amused and worried.

”Do you require medical attention? Your surgeon friend was by earlier today, I could send for him. He asked after you and told me he was staying at an inn in Beauclair for a few days before departing.”

Geralt pursed his lips, glancing at Emhyr.

”Actually, yeah. If you can get a hold of Regis, tell him to come by. Nothing urgent, but he could have some insights,” the witcher said and then turned to look at Emhyr, like he had momentarily forgotten he was really there.

”B-B, this is my friend Duny. We've been on the road for weeks and need baths, food, and sleep. Nothing special,” Geralt told his majordomo, who looked relieved to return into his role as a steward.

”Oh, and bring me the box labeled _'do not open hands off'_ from the cellar and the weird glowing stone Ciri gave me, when you have the time,” Geralt added as Barnabas-Basil ushered them inside the beautiful main building. If the man found the instructions peculiar, he didn't show it.

Once inside, Emhyr could see Geralt relaxing in a way he had not witnessed before. He'd seen the witcher sated and he'd seen him happy, but now he saw him at home. It was different by some unidentifiable way. He stripped off his armour and hung it up in the foyer. His swords went to the same nook. When Geralt turned around, he saw Emhyr was staring. He cocked his head, looking puzzled.

”I've made a deal with the local armorer. B-B sends a word for him and his apprentice comes pick up whatever gear I manage to destroy. He gives me good price because-”

”You've helped him,” Emhyr finished for Geralt. The witcher nodded, looking almost embarrassed.

”You can leave your gear here. I have spare clothes you can use and Lafargue will fix up your armor, too. He was trained by Tyen'Sail, so he won't mess up anything,” he said, looking away and rubbing his neck. Emhyr could see he was blushing again.

Luckily, a serving girl dressed in a simple, blue dress came to tell Geralt the baths were ready. Emhyr saw how she looked at the witcher curiously but without an ounce of fear. Geralt thanked her by her name (Anne-Marie), gave her a warm smile, and then gestured for Emhyr to follow. Being a guest in someone else's home was a novel experience, Emhyr reflected as he walked along a narrow corridor.

The servants had filled several vats with hot water for them. While it was modest compared to Nilfgaardian baths, he felt himself sighing happily as the begun to scrub away the accumulated dirt and dust. Despite enjoying his journeys, Emhyr var Emreis was a Nilfgaardian, through and through. He relished every chance to bathe and be clean he got; the year he had spent traveling had only solidified his love for good plumbing and fragrant, hot water.

When he finished, he turned around and found Geralt was drying himself off, seemingly lost in staring at his altered body. Emhyr looked at him properly, then. The witcher was still scarred and muscled, but his skin was flushed pink from the hot water, and his face seemed much more expressive than it had been. Emhyr had known the witcher mutations didn't really strip away emotions, but they apparently made it much easier to control their outward expression. Right now, Geralt was an open book, looking both confused and wondering as he draped the towel around his hips.

Emhyr stalked closer and came to a stop a bit closer than was decent. Geralt looked up, still frowning, the expression morphing into surprise as Emhyr pulled him closer and kissed him. Geralt let out a groan and kissed him back. For a while it was enough, both of them drawing comfort from the action. Then Geralt pulled back, and he was still frowning.

”Why'd you do that?” he asked. Emhyr looked at him, not understanding the question, a tendril of worry sneaking into his belly.

”If you don't wish-” he begun, making a move to withdraw, only to have Geralt's hands grip him.

”No. No, I don't mind. But I'm not...” he begun and trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. Emhyr blinked twice, and then he understood.

”You think I was coming on to you because you are a witcher,” he said, his tone flat. Geralt looked away and dropped his hands, stepping back.

”It's the reason people usually proposition me,” he muttered, and he was definitely blushing now. ”And I'm not a witcher anymore.”

Emhyr sighed, stepping closer again.

”Geralt, you will always be a witcher. Nothing can take that away from you,” he said, addressing the easier of the two issues first. Geralt shrugged, clearly not convinced. However, Emhyr saw he had not taken off his medallion, so that was something.

”You have the experience and the skills. The latter maybe not as spectacular as they were a few days ago, but the core of it is the same. A mere djinn couldn't possibly strip you of your identity.”

Geralt looked at Emhyr, his eyes wary. He didn't step away, though.

”As for your second assumption...” Emhyr continued, letting his mouth quirk up. ”I'm not most people, and I'm not finding you any more rebarbative now than I did a week or a month ago.”

Geralt stared at him, his mouth open.

”A month-” he begun, not able to find the rest of the words. Emhyr smiled wider.

”You piqued my curiosity a while back. Nothing has changed in that regard.”

Geralt took a few moments to search Emhyr's face for any sign of falsehood. Then Emhyr was suddenly backed towards the wall and there was a hungry mouth on his and roaming hands searching his body. He kissed back, allowing the fire to kindle once again.

 

After Geralt and Emhyr had eaten (and Emhyr was sorely tempted to lure the cook into his court), the witcher took Emhyr into his study. The majordomo had fetched the requested items for Geralt, who opened the big box and begun to shuffle through it. Finally, he pulled out a thick roll, looking satisfied.

”The notes of Alexander,” he explained, when Emhyr lifted an eyebrow. Geralt smiled. ”I promised you could have them, if you use them for good. Here you are.”

Emhyr accepted the roll but didn't open it. Something about the situation was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger to it. Geralt leaned against the table and crossed his arms.

”I think you don't need to worry about the sorceress. I was buried under the shed, but I'm willing to bet the djinn killed her,” he said, looking at Emhyr, who nodded in agreement.

”Yes, I believe so. But even if she escaped, she is not a priority right n-” he begun, but Geralt cut in.

”Yeah, she is. Or would be, anyway. If she was meddling with plagues like Catriona, she would have become a real problem before long,” the witcher said, frowning. He nodded towards the notes in Emhyr's hand. ”You should read those. There's bound to be some stuff you'll find interesting.”

Then Emhyr understood what was bothering him. Geralt was still focused on the job. His first instinct was to make sure the danger got dealt with, even when his own life had been turned upside down.

Emhyr set the roll down on a chair and stepped closer. Geralt looked confused, until Emhyr grasped his hands.

”Stop that,” Emhyr said quietly. ”The sorceress will be dealt with, but it is no longer your responsibility. And not because of what happened to you,” he pressed on when Geralt opened his mouth. ”But because right now you deserve help,” he finished and leaned in, pressing a kiss on Geralt's lips. The witcher took a while to reciprocate, but then his arms came up and circled Emhyr's waist. Emhyr let his own hands rest on Geralt's shoulders, his thumbs stroking lazy circles.

When Geralt drew back, he was flushed and looking both stubborn and happy.

”Won't be making any promises,” he grinned. Emhyr rolled his eyes.

”Why am I not surprised?” he mused as he stepped back. Geralt hummed, looking satisfied. He had tied back his hair and dressed in simple, comfortable clothes. Emhyr cleared his throat before his mind could slip too far down on the path of appreciating the visual.

”We need to contact Cirilla and make plans,” he said. Geralt nodded.

”She gave me a magic stone that I could use to summon her. Apparently _Philippa_ designed it,” he told Emhyr, looking insulted that Philippa Eilhart had come up with something useful. Emhyr felt his lips twitch.

”We should use it, your dislike of the maker notwithstanding.”

Geralt looked thoughtful.

”I was thinking we could wait until tomorrow and talk to my friend Regis first,” he said. ”B-B said he's in town and if I know him at all, he'll stop by so early tomorrow morning it'll border on indecent.”

Emhyr was sceptical.

”Your majordomo said your friend is a surgeon. What could he know about djinns?” he asked. Geralt grinned.

”Regis knows something about pretty much anything. Most of it is completely useless, but he manages to surprise me often enough,” he said, clearly hiding something and looking very amused. Emhyr sighed and didn't pry, but his curiosity was clawing at him.

”Very well.”

 

Geralt'd majordomo showed Emhyr into a spacious guest bedroom sometime after that. The bed was comfortable and the window overlooked the estate grounds. It was by no means the worst room Emhyr had slept in, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed as he stripped off his borrowed clothing and slipped under the fresh-smelling covers.

He realized Geralt needed time to process the change that had befallen him. Emhyr had shown him affection and indicated he didn't find anything about him distasteful, while still trying to give him space. The witcher didn't owe him anything, but somehow Emhyr had started to  _ hope for things _ , and wasn't that inconvenient?

He rolled on his back and crossed his arms behind his head, looking at the ceiling and not finding anything interesting there. Somehow Geralt had become important to him. He had been important before, true, but now the meaning of the word had started to shift and encompass a new spectrum of feelings. Emhyr scowled. He could have developed _feelings_ to any of the aristocrats milling around the court, but he had to choose a witcher? And not just easy feelings of lust and heat, no.

There was a nascent warmth in Emhyr's chest; it was a feeling he could not recall experiencing for years, and yet... There it was. Seeing Geralt as he was now, in a human body that couldn't hide his feelings and reactions as a witcher's could, was only causing the sensation to grow stronger. To his surprise, Emhyr realized he wanted to  _ protect _ Geralt. The thought seemed so absurd he paused for several minutes to examine it, but he couldn't describe it in other terms.

Emhyr let out a breath and rolled on his side, facing away from the door. He could already tell he would end up doing his best to protect the witcher, whether they would stumble into a relationship or not. Emhyr knew himself well, and he could also tell these feelings wouldn't go away, even if Geralt didn't reciprocate. They would stay, grow roots into his core, and affect his decisions in some way, whether he liked it or not.

Emhyr was almost asleep when he heard the door creak open. He turned around, blinking sleep from his eyes when a dark shape came to sit on the edge of the bed. Moonlight caught brown hair, and Emhyr relaxed back onto his pillows.

”Geralt,” he mumbled. ”Did you need something?”

There was a silence, and then the mattress dipped.

”May I?” Geralt asked, and the uncertainty in his voice twisted something inside Emhyr. He simply shuffled back and Geralt slipped under the covers, his arms immediately coming to hold Emhyr. He let out a satisfied huff.

”Couldn't sleep,” the witcher said. He sounded conflicted. Emhyr hummed and brought his left hand into Geralt's hair. He stroked it until he could feel the man relax. Geralt fell asleep quickly after that, but Emhyr stayed awake for some time.

_Inconvenient._

 

**IV**

Geralt had been right. They were woken early by Barnabas-Basil who informed them that Emiel Regis had arrived and was waiting for them downstairs. Geralt yawned and got up, giving Emhyr a smug look when he padded back into his own room to dress. Emhyr rolled his eyes and forgot to wonder what the majordomo might have thought at finding them in the same bed.

They descended the stairs into the foyer and Emhyr saw an older man standing by the door. His eyes widened when he saw Geralt and he was by the stairs in an instant. Emhyr frowned. The man moved much quicker than other people of his age. His hair was greying and he was dressed in simple clothes, a leather satchel hanging from his shoulder and a distinct herbal smell about his person.

”Geralt! What happened?” The man who was undoubtedly Regis asked, his mellow voice rising in alarm.

”Your eyes- and, and your hair-” he said, his eyes darting from one thing to another and clearly unable to settle on anything. Geralt reached to hug his friend, laughing and looking a bit embarrassed.

”Regis, calm down. I'm ok. A djinn got me,” he said, as his friend hugged him back and then brought him back at an arm's length, looking at him in wonder.

”A djinn? That would explain your sm-” the man begun and then seemed to realize they were not alone. His black eyes settled on Emhyr and he closed his mouth with an audible snap. Geralt grinned.

”Regis, this is Duny. He was traveling with me when we encountered a poorly-sealed djinn,” the witcher said. ”Duny, this is Emiel Regis, a very old and dear friend of mine,” he continued. He put a very fine stress on the words 'very old,' which caused Regis to roll his eyes before extending his hand to Emhyr.

”The pleasure is all mine, Duny,” he said, smiling. Emhyr shook his hand and was surprised by how strong his grip was.

”Likewise, master Regis. Any friend of Geralt's is probably as unusual as he is,” he said, probing a bit. Not out of any real concern, merely curiosity and habit. He saw Regis' eyes narrow very slightly, all but confirming his suspicions.

Geralt watched them, his eyes knowing but mirthful.

”Regis, join us for breakfast. We'll tell you the whole story,” he said, gesturing towards the dining room. Regis nodded.

”Gladly. How is lady Trastamara?” he asked, following the witcher. Emhyr trailed after them, wondering who the surgeon was referring to. He heard Geralt laugh.

”She's fine. Decided to stay here and feed me.” Regis laughed too.

”I'm glad to hear that. It's good someone is keeping an eye on you,” he teased Geralt. Emhyr could see right away that they knew each other extremely well. Geralt's awkwardness about his changed appearance had melted away almost instantly, and he was looking at Regis with his brown eyes crinkling in an amused smile.

Geralt turned to look at Emhyr.

”Regis is talking about my cook, Marlene. She was a wight when I found her.”

Emhyr lifted an eyebrow.

”A curse?” he asked. Geralt smiled and nodded.

”Yeah. I managed to lift it. I brought her here and told her she could stay, since all her relatives had died years ago. She turned out to be a splendid cook.”

Emhyr hummed, smiling back at Geralt. Somehow the tale didn't surprise him very much. Geralt was clearly in habit of acquiring friends from unexpected places.

Once they were seated, Regis leaned forward and looked at Geralt and Emhyr.

”So, do tell. How on earth did you manage to find a djinn? And one who had been incompletely bound?” he asked, his black eyes curious. Geralt opened his mouth and then seemed to realize he and Emhyr had not agreed on any kind of a cover story. He cast an anxious glance at Emhyr, apparently not realizing his emotions were now plain for everyone to see. Emhyr saw Regis' eyes widen when he came to the same conclusion.

Emhyr sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot nowadays. Maybe he could take a risk. It seemed like Regis had his own secrets to guard, so maybe he wouldn't mind keeping one of Emhyr's.

”Geralt, do you trust your friend?” he asked and motioned towards Regis. Geralt nodded.

”With my life,” he said at once. Emhyr saw Regis give the witcher a warm smile.

Emhyr shrugged.

”Tell him the truth.”

Geralt watched him incredulously for a moment and then cleared his throat. By then, Regis' curiosity was turning towards apprehension.

”Regis, meet Emhyr var Emreis,” Geralt said without any preamble, grinning and gesturing at Emhyr.

Regis' eyes snapped to Emhyr and his mouth opened. No sounds came out. The surgeon stared at him, his eyes widening as the words sank in. Emhyr shook his head.

”Please don't worry about formalities now, master Regis. I am here entirely unofficially. I have been conducting incognito journeys throughout the realm, and Geralt was assisting me on one of them.”

The surgeon snapped his mouth shut and straightened his back. He still looked like he had seen a ghost.

”Well. That explains some parts of the mystery, although not nearly all of them,” he finally managed. His voice was sounding a bit hoarse. Geralt grinned at his friend.

”Emhyr has been seeking out separatists and offering them the chance to parlay. We were going to look for a sorceress some way north from here,” he said. Regis nodded thoughtfully.

”Ah, yes. The lady who has been causing trouble here in Toussaint,” he said, stroking his sideburns. ”Why parlay with him, if I may ask?” he continued, addressing Emhyr.

”She had been conducting some interesting research in the past. I was hoping to enlist her help in fighting epidemics,” Emhyr answered. Regis nodded.

”Yes, lady Gina Valeria was an epidemiologist. Almost as accomplished as the sorcerer called Alexander, but unfortunately unstable of mind,” the surgeon answered. Emhyr's suspicions about the man grew. How could a normal surgeon from Toussaint know about such things? Geralt had clearly been right about his friend and his knowledge of the world.

”So how did you manage to get on a djinn's way, Geralt?” Regis asked. ”You have been turned into human, if I'm not grossly mistaken. I can't imagine you hoping for such a thing.”

Geralt shook his head, and his smile vanished.

”The sorceress knew we were coming, probably because of the djinn. She was wishing for supreme magical power. Wanted to be unique, or something like that. She had managed to imprison the djinn, but had not bound it fully into her will,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of sadness. Regis' voice was very gentle when he answered.

”And in revenge it stripped everyone around it of their supernatural powers,” he finished for the witcher, who only nodded. Regis reached out and grasped Geralt's hand over the table, squeezing it gently.

”For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You must be having a hard time adjusting.”

Geralt shrugged.

”Everything feels weird. And every time I look in the mirror I wonder who's looking back,” he said in a low voice. Then he grinned, clearly trying to brighten up. ”And I keep flicking my hand at candles and then wonder why they won't go out like they used to,” he added. Regis smiled knowingly, clearly detecting Geralt's attempt to deflect the issue as easily as Emhyr did.

”If it's of any consolation, you're still every bit as exceptional as you used to be, brown hair or not,” Regis smiled and leaned back. Geralt rubbed his neck, the blush once again threatening to overtake his cheeks.

”Duny said the same thing. Guess I'm just having a bit of an identity crisis.”

Regis looked at Emhyr inquisitively, and Emhyr wasn't sure he liked being the target of the man's scrutiny.

Thankfully, Marlene brought them breakfast then, causing the tension to dissipate. As they ate, Geralt questioned Regis about djinns and their powers. The surgeon seemed to know quite a lot about the spirits and he had useful remarks about the situation in general. His best suggestion was to search out another spirit to reverse the damage, an idea Emhyr had been nursing for a few days.

By the time Regis took his leave Emhyr was certain about some things. Firstly, Regis cared for Geralt deeply and unconditionally, having offered the witcher both his help and comfort. Secondly, there was no way the man was fully human. His graceful way of moving and strength aside, Emhyr had noted the surgeon had seated himself away from any direct sources of light; but when he and Geralt were exchanging their farewells in the foyer, Emhyr saw the man had no shadow.

He hung back, nodding to Regis as he waved him goodbye and considering the information. When Geralt closed the door Emhyr approached him.

”Your friend, he's not human, is he?” he asked quietly. Geralt paused and stared at him for a moment, clearly thinking very fast. Then he sighed.

”Shoulda known you'd notice. Yeah, he's not human, but he's safe. I've known him for years and he has never betrayed me,” he answered as he started to climb the stairs. Emhyr nodded and followed.

”Don't worry, I'm not asking you to betray his trust and divulge his true identity. It's enough for me to know you trust him,” he said. He meant every word, and it surprised him. Geralt stopped so adruptly that Emhyr collided with him. He looked up and was met with an astonished stare.

”What?” Emhyr asked. He did not step back, craning his head up to look at Geralt. Some part of him enjoyed the proximity.

”Are you sure you were not hit by the djinn, too?” Geralt asked, his mouth quirking up into a grin. Emhyr rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

Suddenly Geralt's hands were winding into Emhyr's loose hair. The witcher looked at him for a few heartbeats like he couldn't decide what to think and then kissed him, his tongue easily slipping into Emhyr's mouth.

Emhyr kissed back, letting his hands roam up and down Geralt's back. By gods, how good the man felt, solid and unyielding, all heat and muscle under his simple clothes. Emhyr couldn't help thinking about the time in the tent, and a shiver ran down his spine. Geralt grinned against his mouth.

”Bed?” he asked. Emhyr could only nod.

 

Emhyr took the time to strip Geralt slowly, running his hands over the flushed skin and enjoying the soft pants Geralt made. When he was done, he let Geralt flip him on his back and return the favor. Emhyr saw his wondering expression and knew he was curious to see how things would feel now. The thought of getting to experience Geralt as a human bled into Emhyr's mind, taking over his faculties. He grew harder, suddenly aroused beyond belief.

Geralt wasn't far behind him, his hands digging into Emhyr hips and his mouth traveling down Emhyr's neck and chest. It was exquisite, all in all, Emhyr thought, as Geralt sucked kisses on his abdomen, making content little noises. When he took Emhyr in his mouth, Emhyr felt his back arch off the bed and he made a small cry. Geralt paused and looked at him, his eyes wide and pleased.

When Emhyr felt himself approaching release he made Geralt pull back, not intending to have all this to be over too soon.

”Do you have oil?” he asked, his voice husky. Geralt nodded, watching him closely. He retrieved a small bottle from the dresser and climbed back on top of Emhyr. Emhyr let his hands travel down his back and to his behind.

”Do you want to fuck me?” Geralt asked, grinning. He certainly seemed excited about the idea, but it wasn't what Emhyr had been hoping.

”I was wishing you'd do it to me,” he answered, feeling, for the first time in a very long time, almost shy. Geralt looked at Emhyr again like he had looked at him many times, like he couldn't tell what he was thinking and desperate to find out. But he nodded, and his hard cock nudged Emhyr's hip deliciously as he poured some oil over his fingers.

Geralt was careful in the preparation, his fingers gentle and coaxing. Emhyr was panting by the time Geralt finally started to push into him. It was so good. Geralt slid home in one slow push and stayed there, filling Emhyr perfectly. He pulled the witcher down and kissed him messily, smiling and feeling Geralt's delighted grin against his lips. Emhyr felt almost giddy, the multitudes of his worries ceasing to exist for a while. What mattered was right here; him and Geralt, and the witcher's husky laughter that was doing something wonderful to his soul.

Then Geralt started moving, and the rest of Emhyr's suspicions melted away. He clung onto Geralt, who was stroking his cock slowly, bringing him ever closer to release. Geralt was looking at him through half-lidded eyes, the curious smile never leaving his lips, and Emhyr felt his heart ache at the sight. He was falling, fast.

The thought sent him over like a punch to the gut. He moaned and came, hard and clenching down on Geralt, who gave a breathy chuckle and started moving faster. Emhyr tried to help him, push back, and soon enough Geralt was making delicious sounds into Emhyr's neck as he spent himself. Emhyr felt a jolt of pleasure at the feeling, tucking it away into his memory.

Geralt collapsed next to him, sweaty and sated. Emhyr, following a whim he didn't have time to examine, rolled over and pulled him closer. Geralt made a surprised sound before settling closer, his back flush against Emhyr's chest. Emhyr buried his nose into the tangle of brown hair and breathed deep. Geralt chuckled, squirming.

”That tickles.” Emhyr smiled, but didn't answer. He was still riding the light, content feeling of the sex. Geralt wound his fingers among Emhyr's and sighed, sounding happy.

There and then, Emhyr could tell he was exactly where he wanted to be. He closed his eyes and tried to commit everything to his memory; the way Geralt felt, lying in his arms, and the way his body was completely relaxed, how that meant he trusted Emhyr, at least for a short while. Emhyr opened his eyes and swallowed. It was all too much, and he still couldn't pull away. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Geralt's neck.

Geralt craned his head around and looked at him in question. He looked uncertain, but not alarmed. Emhyr lifted his eyebrows, but got no answer.

 

**V**

Summoning Cirilla was so simple it took Geralt all of two minutes. He simply pricked his finger with a needle and squeezed a drop of blood on the smooth, white stone Cirilla had gifted him some time ago. Then he sat back and waited, curiously peering at his finger.

”It used to heal much faster,” he said, when he saw Emhyr looking at him.

”I believe that. Is that all you need to do to summon Cirilla?” he asked. Geralt nodded.

”She told me she will get the message and come to me as soon as possible. She knows I keep the stone at home, so I probably won't use it if it's an emergency. She'll come when she gets the chance.”

Emhyr nodded, satisfied to wait. He had come to enjoy spending time with Geralt, and any chance he got, he was determined to use.

”When we get back to the palace, I will summon lady Yennefer. I understand she has experience with djinns, so she may be able to help us,” Emhyr said. Geralt looked away, frowning unhappily.

”Yeah, you could say that,” he muttered. Emhyr had been curious to find out just what had happened that had caused the sorceress and the witcher to go their separate ways, but now didn't seem like a good time to pry. Apparently it had something to do with the djinn lady Yennefer had encountered while in Skellige.

”My initial thought is to simply seek out another djinn, as your friend suggested” Emhyr continued after a moment's silence. Geralt turned to look at him.

”Yeah, one djinn can undo another's work, I know that much,” he said, folding his arms and still looking unhappy. ”But isn't searching for one a bit overkill? It's dangerous and expensive.”

Emhyr shook his head.

”Not at all. As I said, you were hit with this misfortune while working for me. I feel like it's my responsibility to do all I can to fix this,” he said. That was the official version. Deep inside, Emhyr felt the need to care for the witcher, to offer him any and all help he might need, and even that wasn't a full description of what he was beginning to feel. Emhyr pulled his thoughts back to the present moment, deciding Geralt didn't need to hear any of that now. He had enough troubles of his own.

”Well, yeah, but I'm not dying or anything,” Geralt shrugged. Emhyr cocked his head, suddenly curious.

”Geralt, _do_ you wish to return back to your old self?” he asked. Geralt looked up, his eyes sharp and his face solemn. He stared at Emhyr for a while and then unfolded his arms, leaning them on his knees.

”I... I guess I do. It's the only way I know how to be. Being a witcher had always been my only choice,” he answered. He didn't sound entirely convinced, and Emhyr turned this new information over inside his head.

”We can look for a djinn, but should you wish to remain like you are now, you are under no obligation to use the wish for that,” he finally said, and Geralt looked at him once again like Emhyr was some unsolvable puzzle, when all he felt like was a damned fool wearing his heart on his sleeve-

A bright light flashed and Cirilla appeared. She looked at them, confusion written on her features, until her eyes found Geralt's scar and recognition flared across her face. She let out a yelp and her hands flew to his mouth.

”Geralt!” she exclaimed and rushed to him. ”What- what?” she stammered, taking in her surrogate father. Geralt reached to grip her shoulder comfortingly.

”A djinn made me human,” he said. He was smiling, though, and after a few seconds Ciri hugged him tightly. When she pulled back she looked at Emhyr.

”Are you alright?” she asked, moving to him and giving him a hug, too. Emhyr hugged her back, feeling the same wondering joy he felt every time she showed him affection. He had missed her, even if he had only been gone for six weeks.

”Yes, Cirilla, I'm fine. I'm afraid Geralt has once again been forced to bear the brunt of other people's mistakes,” he said. Geralt huffed, looking vaguely affronted.

”Hey, I was there out of my own free will,” he said, but he was grinning as he said that.

 

Cirilla took both of them by the arm and brought them back into the secret room at the palace. Emhyr had insisted on the location, because he was in desperate need of a shave and a proper bath. Ciri left him there, but only after making him promise he and Geralt would join her for dinner to discuss the situation further.

Emhyr heard the door close and the lock click. He turned around, expecting to be alone, but Geralt had not left with Cirilla. He was standing by the desk, his hands in his pockets and looking uneasy.

”Geralt?” Emhyr asked. Geralt looked up. ”Did you need something?”

Geralt rubbed his neck and tried to smile, but his cheeks were coloring, and Emhyr wasn't going to get tired of seeing that any time soon.

”I was wondering if I could take a bath here. I don't feel like walking around the palace looking this scruffy, especially now that I no longer look scary enough to shut people up,” he said, and there was a hint of uncertainty, like he expected Emhyr to decline his offer. As if he could.

Emhyr gave him a smile.

”Certainly. And I wouldn't worry about the nobles overly much. They know when they are outmatched, even if they try to hide it,” he said and led the way into his bathchamber.

Emhyr felt his muscled unwind on their own accord as soon as the fresh smell of hot bathwater and herbs hit him. He undressed and sunk into the pool, letting out a content sigh. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the warmth that immediately leeched out all tension and aches. Only when Geralt got into the pool with him did he open his eyes. The witcher was looking like he was having a religious experience, sinking into the hot water until only his head was visible, and clearly enjoying himself immensely. Emhyr smiled.

”I take this feels different, as well?” he asked, unable not to indulge himself in the familiar banter before he would have to abandon it.

Geralt looked at him and grinned.

”Yeah. I've always liked your baths, but now I really know why you guys are so particular about them,” he laughed, leaning back and looking blissed. Emhyr chuckled, reaching for the decanter of wine the servants had undoubtedly brought on Cirilla's behest. She had somehow known he'd need a drink when he got back. Once again, Emhyr felt a soft happiness bloom in his chest when he thought about his daughter and the splendid woman she had grown up into. He poured two cups and offered Geralt one.

”I would suggest being cautious about imbiding alcohol until you know how it affects you,” Emhyr said as he offered the cup. Geralt's fingers brushed against his when he accepted the cup and his smile turned a touch softer.

Emhyr sipped his wine, savouring the taste. On top of being considerate, Ciri had apparently deduced his wine tastes rather accurately. The red was dark as blood, but inlaced with subtle aromas of berries and vanilla.

When Emhyr felt like he was sufficiently relaxed and clean, he climbed out of the pool and wrapped a soft towel around his hips. He needed a shave, and the servants had thankfully provided the necessary tools. He looked into the mirror and once again thought that he really didn't mind the beard himself, but it would need to go to keep up appearances. Emhyr var Emreis had always been clean-shaven, and now was not a good time to introduce changes into his appearance.

”Do you always shave yourself? I thought you had an imperial barber for that stuff,” Geralt asked as he got out of the bath. Emhyr shook his head as he spread the soap on his cheeks and chin.

”God forbid, no. The only time I do it myself is when I return from my journeys. The first time I did it, I cut myself right in the middle of my chin,” he said, sweeping a clean line with the straight razor and then reaching to rinse the blade. He heard Geralt chuckle as he sat down to watch.

Being the object of Geralt's attention should have been unnerving, and yet it wasn't. They had reached a certain point of familiarity during their journey together, and Emhyr was glad to see it might not disappear the second they returned. It was similar to the trust Emhyr had been rebuilding with Cirilla.

He had allowed her to see him as a person, telling her everything about his life before the usurper killed his father, about his time as the Urcheon of Erlenwald, and most importantly, about the time he had been blessed with Pavetta. He had known it was the only way. Recounting his life's story had made him feel more like a person again and repaired the burnt bridges of his memory. Ultimately, it had been the cause for his new ambitions.

Emhyr had cried for the first time in years when he told Ciri about Pavetta's death. It had been the first time Ciri had hugged him. She had been crying, too.

Emhyr swept the last of the black hairs away, thinking idly that someday he might retire properly and let his beard grow out. He was curious to see whether it would go grey like his hair had at the temples. He brushed the remaining suds off with a towel and when he turned, Geralt was standing much closer than he'd thought.

”Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you,” the man smiled. Emhyr shook his head and felt his own mouth quirk up. Something about Geralt's smiles made him want to answer them in kind.

”Would you shave me?”

Emhyr, who had been thinking about dressing, stopped dead and turned to stare at the witcher. His memory was filled with several cases of Geralt griping about being forced to give up his beard, and Emhyr himself feeling everything from annoyance to regret about insisting on it. In the light of that, he couldn't begin to understand Geralt's request. It must have shown on his face, because Geralt looked away and bit his lip.

”Don't ask me why,” he said, and Emhyr didn't.

He let his hand come to rest against Geralt's shoulder and directed him to sit down. Slowly, he lathered his cheeks, marveling at the reddish brown stubble in place of the white hair he was so used to seeing. Geralt kept looking at him, his eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed just enough that Emhyr could tell he was nervous.

When he took the razor he paused, letting his own tension bleed away.

”Are you sure?” he asked. He knew it was about more than getting a shave. A witcher allowing a blade this close to their throat was taking a stupid risk. A normal human even more so. Suddenly Emhyr felt intense shame for his past orders to have the attendants shave the witcher.

Geralt didn't speak, merely nodded. When the razor touched his cheek, he let out a breath and relaxed. Emhyr kept his unoccupied hand on Geralt's neck, providing him with an anchor as he worked, his movements by now sure and calm. It was intimate, but in a vastly different manner than sex. It was about trust, or learning about it, or something altogether different. Emhyr didn't know. What mattered was that it was happening, and Emhyr was feeling sheer awe as Geralt closed his eyes.

When Emhyr finished, he wiped away rest of the soap with a wet cloth. He wanted to kiss Geralt; he was burning with desire to do it, but he couldn't. They had not talked about what had been building between them. The time spent outside the palace felt like it belonged into a different reality, and Emhyr didn't know how much of it the witcher wanted to take with him into the real world.

He settled to caressing the smooth cheek. Geralt opened his eyes, his pupils wide. Emhyr gave him a smile and turned to the dresser.

”I believe Cirilla has arranged something for you to wear. The servants have undoubtedly brought it into the main room,” he explained as he begun to pull on underwear and an undershirt. Geralt muttered something about doublets and exited the bath chamber.

When Emhyr followed him a few minutes later, he found Geralt buttoning up the doublet he had been wearing before they had departed. It seemed like a lifetime away. The witcher caught Emhyr's eye and grinned.

”At least Ciri will make sure my clothes are not too tight,” he said, his eyes glinting with laughter. Emhyr didn't deign the comment with an answer, but let his amusement show as he draped the golden chain over his shoulders. He felt Geralt watching him as he became Emhyr var Emreis once again, and the thought that he was putting away his self as Duny felt intensely sad all of a sudden.

Enough so that when they were about to open the door, Emhyr grasped Geralt by the hand and stopped him. Geralt allowed himself to be pulled a little closer and looked at him calmly.

”I don't know what you want,” Emhyr begun, his voice barely above a whisper. ”But you don't owe me anything. Not a single thing. My door is always open for you, should you require anything, be it _this_ -” Emhyr continued, gesturing at them both, ”or simply someone to talk with.”

With that, he stepped back. Geralt was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Emhyr forced a smile and opened the door, readying himself to become what the world expected of him.

 

At dinner, Cirilla told them she had already contacted Yennefer of Vengerberg, and that the sorceress had promised to start looking for a djinn immediately. She managed to silence Geralt's protests about the dangers of the task much more easily than Emhyr could have ever hoped to. Lady Yennefer had apparently decided to ask some of her friends from the Lodge for help, confident that two sorceresses would be able to quell an elemental spirit as soon as they managed to locate one.

Geralt had not looked happy about it, but he had stopped arguing, after that.

Emhyr retreated into his chambers soon after dinner, leaving Geralt and Cirilla to catch up. He had a veritable mountain of correspondence to catch up on, and some pressing matters which his staff had not managed to handle on their own. It was easy to slip back into the routine, especially since nowadays his attention was not torn between a hundred pressing matters. He had mostly been handling diplomacy-related issues after his abdication, and with the new objectives the tasks had once again begun to hold a meaning to him.

Only when Emhyr retired into his bedchamber sometime after midnight did he feel lonely. He knew it was stupid, but that didn't stop the feeling from stubbornly existing as he pulled the covers up. He sighed and relaxed into his comfortable mattress, closing his eyes and reaching for sleep. He knew this night there wouldn't be a warm body crawling into his bed just as he was falling asleep.

 

The next three days were the usual hurdle of returning into the palace and pretending he had never been absent. The doppler kept a meticulous journal of things that took place, and it allowed Emhyr to keep people from wondering whether he had developed an issue with his memory. In any case, he had kept his public appearances to a minimum after starting his journeys, and the court itself didn't really change in the time of peace. He had the convenient excuse of working on his memoirs when he needed to disappear, and the only drawback of that was that he would actually need to produce a memoir at some point to avoid suspicions.

The return to his usual life was not what bothered Emhyr. It was the witcher. He'd managed to spot Geralt on several occasions; in the past he was usually to be seen in the training courtyard or at the armory, alone or sparring with some of the braver guards. Now there was always someone new present, and always trying to rope him into a discussion by the looks of it.

Emhyr had known it would be like this. Geralt had always been handsome and everyone in the palace knew who he was and what he had done for Cirilla. Now that the witcher mutations had been stripped away, people apparently thought he was easier to approach. Emhyr didn't know what Geralt thought about it, but it was bound to be confusing. Deep inside Emhyr's brain some part was also angry at those people, but he couldn't tell whether this part was talking out of jealousy or some less petty feelings.

In any case, five days after their return things had settled down enough that he sent a message to Geralt, telling him he was free for the evening if he would care to play chess. Emhyr was careful to word the message so that it was clear the witcher was not obligated to accompany him.

It was a pleasant surprise when eight o'clock brought a knock on his door and Geralt stepped in, looking at Emhyr with a slight smile and his shoulders relaxed. They drank some wine and played chess, the conversation flowing easily and steering clear of any stressful topics. Geralt's smiles became looser after two glasses of wine, and he seemed like he was genuinely enjoying himself. Emhyr drank in his precense, once again quietly acknowledging how content he felt in his company.

At midnight, he bid Geralt goodnight, walking him to the door. For a moment, Geralt seemed to consider something, before dragging Emhyr suddenly closer and kissing him hungrily.

Emhyr groaned and answered in kind, but some part of his brain was ringing a warning bell. Geralt was not drunk by any means, but there was an edge to his behaviour. It had not been present before, and it bothered Emhyr enough that he pulled back just as the kiss started to get heated. He felt terrible for doing so, especially as Geralt's eyes flashed with concealed hurt when he stepped back.

”Nothing has changed,” Emhyr said quietly, letting his hand brush against Geralt's. ”But I think now is not a good time for this.” Geralt swallowed, nodded, and left without a word. 

Emhyr spent a sleepless night staring at the ceiling.

 

**VI**

”I have the djinn. You can thank me and Rita later,” Yennefer of Vengerberg said, her smile teasing but kind despite the distortion the megascope caused. Geralt gave a laugh and shifted his weight, crossing his arms.

”How'd you manage it?” he asked curiously.  


Yennefer drew herself up, looking satisfied.

”Pretty much the same way that we did it in Skellige. I wore it down and Rita did the honors. A trifle, really, once we knew where to look.”

”You have my thanks, lady Yennefer,” Emhyr said, inclining his head. ”Please let lady Margarita know her help was deeply appreciated, as well.”

Yennefer nodded formally, still apparently holding some precautions about him. Cirilla was beaming.

”When are you coming by?” she asked. Yennefer shrugged.

”Soon. I have a few matters to tend to, but I will be at the palace by the week's end.” She paused and turned to look at Geralt. ”Try not to get yourself killed in the meantime, Geralt. I'd suggest staying at the palace until we can get you back to normal.” She grinned and Geralt scowled, although he was fighting a smile again.

”Hey, some people would say I'm normal _now_. And I can still take care of myself,” he scoffed. Yennefer laughed.

”Forgive me. I'm simply feeling very taken aback by your looks,” she said and Geralt rolled his eyes.

When the megascope connection was terminated Cirilla was immediately called away by some urgent matter, and Emhyr found himself alone with Geralt for the first time in several days. After the chess and wine and unwise kissing night (as Emhyr's mind had dubbed it), they had only met when they had dinner with Ciri and occasionally General Voorhis or other people of sufficient importance and/or agreeable personalities.

Emhyr had not been sleeping well. He feared he had pushed Geralt away, and still he felt like he had done the right thing, even if he didn't exactly know why. It was a horrid conflict that shrouded his thoughts with glum undertones. He missed the witcher and his easy companionship.

Geralt didn't look too happy, himself. What little of the court gossip had reached Emhyr, no less than three noblewomen had been courting him, and Emhyr was loathe to think how many people of lesser ranks had tried their hand, too. It must have been exhausting, because despite whatever Geralt liked to think about himself, he was fundamentally kind and polite when he had no reason not to be. He would no doubt have found the proceedings tedious and awkward.

”How are you?” Emhyr asked, leaning against his desk when Geralt didn't immediately leave. The witcher sat down on the settee and ran his hand through his hair.

”Not bad,” he said, looking at the carpet. He had dark circles under his eyes. Emhyr crossed his arms.

”You don't look like it,” he observed. Geralt glanced at him, his mouth quirking into a small smile.

”Yeah, I know. At least now I know I'm a crap liar even without my mutations.”

Emhyr moved and sat down next to him. Geralt cast another glance at him before looking away. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until-

”Are you still unsure about your wish?” Emhyr asked. He had not meant to pry, but apparently his heart wanted to overrule his common sense. Currently he felt like it had a headlock on the sensible parts of his brain.

Geralt didn't answer for a long while. Emhyr longed to touch and hold him, but he kept his hands to himself. He was aching at seeing the witcher so uncertain and clearly pained.

”That's the thing, I don't know,” Geralt whispered. His hands clenched into fists. ”It's nice when people don't flinch and pull their kids away from me when I walk the streets. It's nice to go see the armorer and not have to haggle more than is usual, simply because I look scary,” he said in a rush, still addressing the carpet. Emhyr finally gave up on his moralities and placed his hand on Geralt's arm. The man looked at him and frowned.

”But a woman who called me a freak three months ago was _propositioning me_ this week. So many people are suddenly very interested in talking to me.”

Emhyr ground his teeth together as anger rose inside him. It had been exactly like he feared, and clearly it had not been easy. Geralt rubbed his eyes, sounding defeated and angry.

”And I'm feeling... like not one of those people are seeing me. They know who and _what_ I am, but now I'm suddenly _palatable_ , and they want to have a piece of me.”

Emhyr closed his eyes and sighed.

”I'm sorry. I feared it would be like this,” he said quietly. Geralt shrugged.

”Not your fault. But yeah, I don't know. It's been hard,” he said. He looked at Emhyr and gave a weak smile. ”My usual method when I'm confused is to get shitfaced drunk and gripe about my problems to Eskel and Lambert. They usually kick me around enough that I manage to pull my head out of my ass.”

Emhyr smiled tiredly.

”I have the evening off. I can't promise to kick you around, but I'm willing to listen.”

Geralt was staring at him, confused.

”But you said... You didn't-” he begun but apparently couldn't finish. Emhyr gave his arm a squeeze and his smile turned sad.

”I knew you were going through a lot and wanted to give you space. I still do. But I see you need someone to talk to.”

Geralt looked down and chewed his lip. Then he looked up, seeming to brighten up a little.

”Well, at least your cellars are likely to contain something better than White Gull.”

 

Emhyr was fairly certain getting drunk with Geralt ranked pretty high on his personal list of current decisions to test his resolve, but he was determined to follow through. He had sent for a summer red, light but with substantial body. Geralt had sniffed it appreciatively and hummed happily after the first taste. They had worked through the first bottle and played some more chess.

After that, Emhyr had opened another bottle and they had just sat on the settee, talking. Geralt told him all the sordid details about the past weeks, making sure to imitate the several women and occasional men who had been trying to get into his pants. Emhyr was torn between anger and amusement, only laughing heartily when Geralt got as far as imitating his own horror at the propositions.

Emhyr realized this might well be the only chance he ever got to see Geralt of Rivia under the influence. Thus far he was liking it immensely. After the first bottle, the bitter frown had eased off Geralt's face and replaced by similar relaxed smiles he had been treated to in Corvo Bianco. He had allowed himself to drift just a little bit closer on the settee, so that he could feel the warmth radiating off him. It was heady and tempting, and Emhyr felt his heart give yet another deathly squeeze to his brain. He was having very much trouble remembering all his sensible reasons for not giving in and kissing Geralt.

He was ultimately a very easy man to fall for, Emhyr reflected during one of the lulls in their conversation. Geralt was protective and stubborn, but also kind and clever. Human or witcher, he radiated a sense of confidence which must have been born out of his years of being treated like an outcast. Emhyr felt very safe with him, but there was also something more. He knew, instinctually, that he could trust Geralt to never use his feelings against him, provided Emhyr didn't try to hurt him or Ciri first. For a person like Emhyr var Emreis, the former emperor of Nilfgaard, such a person was almost certainly unique.

”You look like you just had some deep revelation,” Geralt laughed and sipped his wine. He was reclining against the back rest, his body turned towards Emhyr's. Emhyr smiled and shook his head.

”Nothing I didn't already know,” he said, not elaborating. Geralt sighed, looking much happier than a few hours ago. He looked out of the window and fell silent again.

”Maybe the part that has been bothering me most about this is that suddenly people want to get in bed with me. Do they really think I don't remember them calling me a freak just few months ago?” Geralt suddenly said, the words rushing out. He looked like he regretted speaking out already, but his face was stubborn and disappointed. ”It'd be easier if I could just ignore how angry it makes me. Then I'd have no doubts about staying this way,” he added, looking straight at Emhyr.

”But you wouldn't be who you are if you could,” Emhyr said, and again his heart was hurting. Geralt hummed, looking sad.

”Guess so. So I think I'm going to return back to my old self and go on with my life. At least I don't have to wonder about what life'd be like if I were normal.”

Emhyr made a face and sipped some more wine.

”You shouldn't make decisions based on what these people think about you. If you want to go on as a normal human, I'm sure the people of Corvo Bianco will welcome you much better than the nobles of the court,” he said and felt his emotions rise, drowning out everything else. Geralt looked at him.

”Yeah. But I still don't know whether I could ever feel like I'm myself. I've always been a witcher. Regis once asked me whether I liked it, and I said I did. I still do,” Geralt said. ”Besides, I still feel responsible for Ciri, and I can't protect her if I'm like this. Not as well as I know I could if I returned into my old self. That's good enough.”

Emhyr let him talk, knowing that sometimes it was enough to have someone listen as you sorted through your erratic thoughts.

Suddenly Geralt set his glass down and shuffled closer, bringing his hand to rest on Emhyr's knee. The contact felt like fire, like coming home.

”What would you have me do?” he asked, his eyes bright. Emhyr blinked at him.

”I have no power over you-” he began and Geralt shook his head.

”Not what I meant, and you know that. Stop deflecting,” he said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Emhyr let himself relax into the cushions and set his glass on the table. He let his hand come to rest on top of Geralt's.

”I cannot tell you what to do. I will not, in fact. But I repeat what I said earlier. You will never be ordinary to me, no matter your looks or profession. I have lost the ability to be objective regarding you,” he said. The last part escaped him without his own volition, but it was true. Geralt looked at him and then he smiled, his eyes flickering to their joined hands.

”I guess I knew that,” he said. ”But why did you push me away?” Geralt asked suddenly, still confused. Emhyr saw the lingering hurt.

”Because I didn't want to take advantage of you. I thought I could wait until you had made your decision and then see whether you still wished to... pursue this,” Emhyr told him, and _that_ was the thing that had been bothering him. He could've had Geralt much earlier, if this had only been a fleeting thing, but the warmth in Emhyr's chest recoiled at the thought of rushing this. He would take anything Geralt would give, but only if he was sure he wanted to do so.

Geralt was staring at him.

”You want... me? Like, not only to take me to bed?” he asked, clearly having difficulty believing what he was hearing. Emhyr nodded and felt the last of his resolve melt away. He would lay his heart bare, and Geralt would do with it what he wanted. The certainty left his head light and his heart hammering in his chest.

”Yes,” he whispered. ”Yes, and it is unlikely to change.” He had not felt like this since Pavetta; had not thought himself capable of loving anyone ever again. He had accepted it and moved on, all the while ignoring what had been in front of him. Had he not been so entangled in his own schemes, he could have won Geralt's trust much earlier.

Geralt leaned closer and kissed him softly, carefully. It felt like a first kiss, even though they had done much more. There was something hovering over them, making Emhyr's head dizzy with relief and hope.

Geralt pulled back and watched Emhyr lick his lips.

”I kept wondering and then hoping... You've changed so much, and I still felt like an idiot for starting to care about you,” he said, clearly thinking back on their shared journey. ”And then I just didn't give a shit anymore, but I still couldn't believe you'd fall for me,” he continued, smiling wryly. Emhyr felt a wide smile spread on his lips as he kissed Geralt again.

He took Geralt to his bed, but only to be able to sleep together. They seemed to have reached a mutual understanding about the situation, and now there was no rush. As Emhyr felt the mattress dip under Geralt he knew his heart had never felt this full. Geralt held on to him as he settled down to sleep, and it felt like the most natural thing.

”I'm afraid we will not be able to keep this a secret much longer,” Emhyr muttered sleepily into Geralt's hair. ”My personal attendants are discreet, but you coming to my bedchamber was undoubtedly noted by other staff.”

Geralt shrugged, his lips pressing a kiss into Emhyr's throat.

”Not like I care. Ciri might take some explaining, though.” Emhyr felt his laughter rumble in his chest.

”Mm. True.”

 

”What will happen to the two other wishes?” Cirilla asked, looking at the seal Yennefer was holding.

”They need to be fulfilled, I have no desire to keep this thing imprisoned for long,” she answered, looking at Geralt in question. The witcher shrugged.

”I want nothing else,” he said. Yennefer frowned.

”But you need to be the one who makes the wishes,” she explained. Geralt looked thoughtful.

”Ciri, is there anything that needs fixing? Something simple enough, so that the djinn can't mess it up,” he asked. Emhyr felt his lips twitch. It was really no surprise that Geralt always thought about Cirilla in times like these.

”There has been a bad flood in Nazair,” Cirilla answered, looking delighted. ”If you're sure you want to use the wishes that way, that needs fixing.” Geralt nodded and smiled. ”Anything else?” he asked. Cirilla fell silent, thinking intently. Emhyr cleared his throat.

”What about the smith's apprentice who lost his arm last week?” he said quietly. Everyone turned to stare at him, but he could only see Geralt's warm smile.

”Yeah, that's good,” he said, his eyes gentle and knowing. Then he turned to Yennefer. ”So, what do I need to do?” he asked. She offered the seal to him.

”You just need to crack it in two. The djinn will then speak to you,” she said and then addressed Emhyr and Ciri. ”Please step back a bit. I will put up a barrier, just in case.”

Emhyr joined Cirilla and Yennefer a few meters away from Geralt, who was standing in the middle of the reading room alone. He gave them a smile, and once Yennefer's magical protection flared to life, he broke the seal with no hesitation.

A gust of wind rushed out from the seal, and an otherworldly rumble filled the room. Emhyr could see a vague shape hover in front of Geralt, who seemed to be listening intently.

”My first wish is for you to stop the flooding in Nazair,” Geralt said. Emhyr sighed. Of course he would use the wish that concerned himself last.

The djinn gave a roar and Emhyr could feel magic surge out, making the hair on his arms stand up. It was very different from the magic of Yennefer or other mages he'd met. He could feel Geralt struggle to stand up straight in the blowing wind.

”My second wish is that you repair the arm of the smith's apprentice here in the palace.”

Another rush of magic and wind made the magical barrier sparkle and groan. Emhyr heard Yennefer give a grunt.

”My third wish is for you to undo the work of another djinn. Can you see what was done to me?” Geralt said, much quieter. The magical presence seemed to pull back, wrap itself around Geralt. Emhyr felt himself twitch, something like worry crawling up his spine.

”I am a witcher. Return me to my old self,” Geralt gasped, and then the magic rushed out, enveloping him entirely in its white and blue glow. He was lifted off his feet, a black outline inside the glow. He hung in the air for a second and then the magic exploded. The flash blinded Emhyr, even behind the barrier. He shut his eyes, but couldn't shut his ears. They all heard Geralt shout something, and then his voice became a howl of pain.

The barrier cracked but didn't disappear. Suddenly the glow died away and there was a rush of wind as the djinn escaped, giving one last howl as it disappeared into thin air.

Yennefer let his arms drop and the shimmering shield vanished. Emhyr and Cirilla both ran to the shape lying facedown on the floor.

Emhyr turned Geralt gently around, his throat tight with dread.

Golden yellow eyes with slit irises blinked open, moving around unfocused. Emhyr's fingers threaded into white hair and he felt like his heart would stop any moment now.

”-it work?” Geralt mumbled, his eyes finding his. Emhyr could only nod, not trusting his voice. Geralt grinned weakly and then his eyes rolled back and he went slack. Cirilla reached to feel his pulse, and finding it strong and slow, huffed in relief.

”Passed out. I'm going to take him to his quarters and summon a healer, just in case,” she said, looking at Emhyr in question. Emhyr only nodded, and then Cirilla and Geralt were gone in a flash of light.

Emhyr got back on his feet, suddenly acutely aware that he had shown perhaps a bit more concern for the witcher than was entirely necessary for a platonic relationship everyone still assumed they had. _Oh well,_ he thought. Cirilla could yell at both of them later. Lady Yennefer could wonder about Emhyr var Emreis actually showing emotions once in his life. He turned to look at the sorceress.

”I thank you again. Are you well?” he asked.

”Yes, your majesty. Nothing a night's sleep won't fix. The djinn was a strong one. I suspect it was the reason it could undo what happened to Geralt. The change inflicted on him was so profound that I confess I had my suspicions. But he seemed to be back to normal,” the woman answered, her violet eyes scrutinizing him. Emhyr bowed his head.

”Then your job here is done. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish,” he answered. Yennefer nodded.

”Thank you, your majesty. I think I will go and see how Geralt is doing.”

”I will join you shortly. I must summon someone to see to this mess,” Emhyr sighed and indicated the destroyed room. The djinn had toppled over several bookshelves and torn out the curtains. Yennefer gave him a polite smile and left.

After finding Mererid and informing him that the library had taken quite some damage, Emhyr finally gave in to the pull and made the walk towards Geralt's quarters. At the door a guard bowed him inside and opened the door for him.

The room was dim, a lonely oil lamp illuminating the bed where Geralt lay. Cirilla was sitting on the edge, stroking his hair. The witcher appeared to be in deep sleep.

”Father,” Cirilla whispered and smiled. Emhyr nodded to her and sat down at the chair that stood empty by the bed. ”The healer said he's fine, just sleeping. Yen did some magic and she couldn't find anything wrong either,” she said, her eyes glistening in the gentle glow. Emhyr smiled.

”I'm glad to hear that.”

They sat there in silence, Ciri's fingers caressing the white hair. Geralt's skin had returned to its pale shade, and Emhyr realized he would never see him blushing again. Rememebering how it had looked like sent a rush of affection through him.

Cirilla turned to look at him, smiling calmly.

”You two have something to tell me, don't you?” she said. Emhyr only nodded, not elaborating until he heard her conclusions. He was curious, and since Ciri didn't seem inclined to yell at them, he felt confident she would not make a scene.

”Did something happen when you were away?” she asked, proving she had inherited his instincts when it came to how people worked.

”Yes,” Emhyr answered. Cirilla hummed thoughtfully.

”You have been circling each other for so long,” she mused. ”I always wondered whether you'd had something in the past.” Emhyr turned to look at her, frowning. She smiled, suddenly a bit too knowingly to his tastes.

”You honestly didn't expect me to notice? The way he never bows to you, how he talks to you? It was rather plain, if you forgive me,” she said. ”And you both have always managed to get a rise out of each other. Not just anyone can do that to him,” Cirilla added, nodding towards Geralt. Emhyr shook his head, smiling fondly. His daughter, through and through.

 

Cirilla needed to tend to her duties, but Emhyr decided he could very well leave his tasks be for the day. He knew he would have a hard time concentrating, as it was. He retrieved some of his journals and set to reading them and making notes about his travels. He had actually been considering leaving the journals to be published posthumously, mostly to have a chance of explaining himself and maybe also to appear that much more human.

Emhyr knew his quest of finding a meaning to his life after abdicating had morphed into a personal journey of looking for his lost identity. He had always known he would be emperor, but the time before that had given him a taste of a different kind of life. Being cursed had been painful and lonely, but it had given him certain resolve; he could always know he'd manage, somehow. He had the will and he always found the way, in good and in bad. Stepping out of the palace had been his way of reclaiming his buried ambitions, and also a chance of walking away from the burdens of being a public face.

Emhyr had always enjoyed his private combat practice, and it had been the driving force behind him never giving it up completely. Achieving something tangible, like mastering a new skill that required only a little thought and a lot more movement and practice, felt viscerally satisfying. It was unrelated to the court, and it helped him stay sane during hard times.

After Cirilla had returned, Emhyr had made himself feel again. He was just a man, and he didn't want to go to his grave having people think of him only as the emperor, cold and ruthless. The vast majority would do so, but Emhyr needed to know there were a few people who knew better. Cirilla had been, and always would be, the first person on that list. Emhyr would never forgive himself for his transgressions, and he had accepted that as a reminder of how close to absolute disaster Vilgefortz had managed to drag him.

But maybe Geralt would be on Emhyr's list, too. He took breaks from his reading and simply watched the witcher, sleeping soundly and occasionally shifting and making small noises. Emhyr knew he had already given his heart away. Geralt had earned it, and thus far he had done nothing but hold it gently. It was scaring Emhyr, but since there wasn't anything he was willing to change he was trying to shoulder the doubts and fears.

Time slipped away, and just as the sun was starting to set Emhyr heard Geralt mutter something. He was by the bed quickly, just as Geralt blinked open bleary eyes and looked around confusedly.

”Huh?” he said, sounding disoriented. Emhyr rested a hand on his shoulder.

”Welcome back,” he whispered. Geralt smiled, settling down again and looking calm.

”Thanks. I feel like crap,” he answered.

”A healer and lady Yennefer have inspected you and declared you perfectly healthy. I imagine what you're feeling is the after-effects of the djinn's power,” Emhyr answered, his thumb stroking the fabric of Geralt's shirt. Geralt nodded.

”I can smell you had something with lemon for lunch and that Ciri was here earlier,” he said, smiling. He looked at the lamp and flicked his fingers. The flame guttered out, and he made a satisfied huff.

”Yeah, much better,” he sighed, looking tired again.

”Please don't overdo it,” Emhyr said, and Geralt gave a laugh

”Sorry. I had to know,” he shrugged. Emhyr smiled.

”You need more sleep,” he said. Geralt reached out and tugged at his sleeve.

”Join me?”

”Of course.”

 

**VII**

Emhyr woke up early, but true to his habit, Geralt was already awake and stroking his hair. He smiled, and somehow Emhyr knew he'd be blushing if he were still physically capable. The knowledge felt like a precious thing he would guard jealously. He stretched, pushing against Geralt's hand and letting his lover know how much he enjoyed the gentle attention.

”Good morning,” he said once he was done. Geralt smiled.

”Morning. Sorry for being creepy and staring at you while you slept.”

Emhyr laughed.

”I have seen much scarier things in my life.”

”Mm. Yourself, for example,” Geralt grinned and leaned closer. There was a second's hesitation, as if he still couldn't believe Emhyr was allowing it, and then he kissed him. Emhyr relaxed, and when Geralt's tongue sweeped against his lips, he opened them without hesitation.

Geralt's hand came to rest against his hip, stroking slowly. Emhyr let his own hands map the scars, until he pushed Geralt on to his back and set to do the same with his mouth. He had wanted to do it ever since he had seen the witcher without a shirt on, the thought of driving Geralt crazy returning to him in his sleep. During their journey, Emhyr had woken up hard so many times he had eventually stopped questioning it altogether. He wanted Geralt, and that was that.

Geralt arched into the touch, moaning when Emhyr's lips brushed a nipple. Emhyr felt his growing hardness press against him, and the sensation was new and glorious. He continued downwards, taking his time, and by the time he pushed Geralt's soft nightpants down, the man was breathing harshly and looking at him with his eyes half-mast.

Emhyr bent lower and nuzzled the white hair at the base of Geralt's cock, drawing a breathy moan from him. Emhyr had never pleasured a man with his mouth, but he'd been on the receiving end of the act often enough to know how to do it. What's more, the thought of doing it to Geralt was making his own cock ache. Geralt's hands flew to Emhyr's hair at the first touch, strong but gentle. Emhyr's mind flashed an image of Geralt fucking into his mouth, and he swallowed thickly.

He looked up, and Geralt quickly pulled his hands away. Emhyr shook his head as he licked a stripe up his cock. Geralt's eyes closed and he groaned.

”You can do that,” Emhyr said before taking him in his mouth and sucking gently. Geralt tried to say something, but it came out unintelligible. His hands did return, and Emhyr found he rather liked the feeling of Geralt guiding him. He explored the new feeling of the act, alternating between licking and sucking until Geralt pulled him away gently.

”Sorry, but you're not going to be the only one who gets to have fun today,” he said, his voice hoarse.

”I can live with that. I take you liked what I did?” Emhyr grinned and slid up, resting his weight on Geralt's chest and marveling when the man didn't show the slightest sign of discomfort.

”Don't tell me that was your first time giving head?” Geralt asked, looking suddenly alarmed and also very aroused. Emhyr kissed him and then nodded.

”You are my first in many ways. I didn't think that would come as a surprise,” he answered. He had thought it was obvious he had never had a male lover before. Judging by Geralt's astonished look, Emhyr was beginning to think he had been wrong.

Suddenly he was flipped over, and Geralt was looming over him. He bent and kissed Emhyr with such fire that when he pulled back Emhyr was panting, his cock throbbing madly.

”I'm going to be good to you,” Geralt whispered, his eyes wondering. ”I'm going to make you feel so good,” he said as he started to suck kisses on Emhyr's throat. Emhyr groaned.

”You already do,” he managed to answer, and Geralt gave a delighted laugh. He continued downwards, leaving a trail of lovebites on Emhyr's skin as he went. When he reached Emhyr's cock, he gave an open-mouthed kiss to its head. Emhyr made a choked sound and then Geralt's clever, strong tongue was pushing _into_ him, and by the sun, he wasn't going to last long like this. He had never even dreamed of anyone doing this to him, and now Geralt was making soft, happy noises as he fucked Emhyr with his tongue.

Precome was beading on the head of Emhyr's cock when Geralt finally slipped a finger inside him, opening him up with the same thorough care as before. Emhyr tried to keep his eyes open. Geralt was smiling at him, his eyes looking happy, and Emhyr didn't want to miss a second of it.

”Gods, I-” he begun, but then Geralt's fingers grazed his prostate and suddenly he was coming hard. Geralt's fingers kept pushing in, and Emhyr sobbed as his back arched and he clawed at the sheets.

When he finally came down, Geralt was grinning. He pushed into him slowly, causing sparks of lazy pleasure shoot up Emhyr's spine. Once he was in up to hilt, he paused and kissed Emhyr again. When they parted, he was smiling.

”I love seeing you like this.”

Emhyr gripped Geralt's hair and moved his hips. Geralt made a satisfied grunt and and kept moving slowly, gentle and teasing. Emhyr wrapped his legs around Geralt's waist, desperate to keep him close.

”I kept having dreams about you,” Geralt continued in a low voice as he moved, his breath ghosting over Emhyr's face. ”I liked seeing you in that armor and with messy hair,” he continued, smirking. Again, Emhyr could tell he would have been blushing if it were possible. He grinned and let his joy shine through.

”I thought it odd you were always present when I returned,” he said. Geralt grinned again.

”Yeah, I was curious as hell,” he said. ”You surprised me. And then you kept doing it and I knew I was in trouble.”

 

Afterwards Emhyr held Geralt close and breathed in his scent. Blade oil, soap, and something he couldn't name but what he associated with feeling safe and content.

Feeling happy was weird. Emhyr knew he would continue his journeys and scheming, but now he would have something to come home to. And Geralt might go back to Toussaint, and that was okay, too. Emhyr was ready to split his time between his own ambitions and his lover. If anything, the thought of getting to have both was overwhelmingly good. Geralt if anyone would understand his need to see the world and do his duty.

He might even have time to produce the damned memoir, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fuuuuuuckkkk me it's 3am where I am right now.


End file.
